Ending the game
by Bella
Summary: Seven weeks ago he flew to London as a married man with the sure knowledge he would return as a widower.
1. Chapter 1

**Ending the game**

Time Frame: eps 1-10, but more precisely it's the night before Gemma's funeral, so it's a few days after ep 10.

Summary:Seven weeks ago he had flown to London as a married man with the sure knowledge he would return as a widower.

AN: What prompted me to "rewrite" the episodes were three sentences in ep 1, 9 and 10, which made me sit gradually up straighter and take notice. These sentences were "I know we negotiated that. But I want out." "I guess I wanna be the man she thinks I am." and "Andrew puts on a good face, but he's not the man you think he is.". And so the cogs in my brain gained speed until they were whirling like mad: what if….what if… what if Andrew is behind all this? What if he is the proverbial wolf that ate chalk? Now, that thought made me interested in him again and I began to watch the episodes under that premise. And to my surprise things that had made little to no sense suddenly became more logical and events more interesting, while others made me lie awake at night trying to find an "evil" angle where it so obviously was anything but. Oh, and I probably owe Siobhan an apology. I tried to make her a bit of a femme fatale. But there's still so little we know about her motives, so I felt free to abuse her.

NotaContrivience writes the eps from Bridge's point of view, scrutinizing every facial expression and every gesture and word. I won't be as thorough, I admit, but I will provide Andrew with a background story, that –hopefully- sheds some light on why and how he became the man he claims to be.

Funny thing is I set out to make him the evil mastermind, but I found I couldn't keep it up, if I wanted to be believable, at least as much as the series' authors are. So the entire story changed into something slightly different, but I hope it makes it no less interesting.

And of course there's another novelty, at least for me, there won't be any direct speech. It's all about Andrew's memories.

I'd love to hear your opinion as we revisit events... about twice a week, so I'm going to have finished the rewriting, when the real Ringer starts again, if I can keep it up.

Normal: Andrew in the office, reflecting

_Cursive: His memories_

Stage set: Andrew's office, late night, the night before Gemma's funeral, that is a couple of days after ep 10 ended. And the curtain lifts…. opening music of ringer…This is the story of an English businessman whose fate has been determined by two sisters. His name is Andrew and he contracted his wife's murder.

**Episode One – A New Threat**

The ice cubes crackle when Andrew pours the whiskey over them. The lights in his office are dim. It's late. Security has just made their 10 o'clock check. It's quiet.

It's his hour for thinking and listening.

Sloshing the cubes and the whiskey around, he walks over to the window and gazes at the city below. His city. He can feel its pulse. He can smell its smell. Taste its flavour in his mouth.

It's dirty.

Like him.

And it fights like him – dirty.

He swallows a mouthful. Enjoys the burn down. It makes him smile. The windowpane reflects his smiling face. He stares at himself. Who is that smiling man holding a glass of whiskey?

Over the last weeks he's been completely transformed up to the point he scarcely recognises himself anymore. For a second the old Andrew shines through and sneers at the reflection as if to remind him that the he is still there, patient but ready to pounce the moment the new Andrew relaxes his control over his instincts. His old inner demons ambition, greed and thirst for power have been let loose for far too long to be stuffed back into their cage without putting up one hell of a fight.

Unable to withstand his own searching gaze he turns away and his eyes fall upon a picture of him and his wife. It was banned from his desk about a year ago.

His hand hovers over it and then, almost against his will, he picks it up and walks over to his desk to sit down behind it. Putting the glass down, his now free hand traces her lovely face. Bridget touches places in his heart and soul he thought dead and buried. And the light in her eyes illuminates corners and places of all things good that had lain in the dark, unbeknownst even to him. He caresses her face with the tip of his finger one last time before he puts it back to his rightful place next to the computer monitor. He mustn't loose this light ever. Because he likes the new Andrew Martin she brings out in him. It still feels like a pair of brand new shoes: a bit uncomfortable and he knows he will have a few blisters, but given time he will walk, even run in them and then he will never want to have another pair of shoes again in his life because of their amazing fit.

* * *

_Seven weeks ago he had flown to London as a married man with the sure knowledge he would return as a widower. He conducted his business affairs, enjoyed his home country and his family, found even time to go visit some friends he hadn't seen in quite a while, spent time with an antagonizing Juliet, had a two hours discussion with her principal trying to convince her to give Juliet one more chance and waited for that one phone call from the police or Olivia bearing the terrible news. But that phone call had never come. Eventually he had run out of excuses to prolong his stay and returned to New York, all the while puzzling what had gone wrong and wondering if the police would handcuff him still at the airport for the contracted murder of his wife. But none had awaited him at the airport. Careful and still suspicious he had returned home, after having decided to act as his usual self, albeit a bit insecure and sheepish._

_Only to be greeted by a woman, who smiled flirtatiously at him and kissed him instead of making a scene and accusing him of the wildest things, which were mostly true, of course, which put him even more on guard and made him even more standoffish than usual. She had been a bit nervous, but determined to fumble her way through the first few minutes. He had immediately known this woman pretending to be his wife, wasn't his wife. This woman was comparatively relaxed and agreeable, unlike Siobhan who he had left hostile and nervous like a cat, fighting to regain lost ground in this marital battle. She had known she was walking on **very** thin ice with him ever since he got back the business documents. He had kept her guessing and off-balance in their cat and mouse game. It had been his payback for the last 14 months, when she had put a ring through his nose and made him dance to her tune. This woman had to be her twin sister Bridget Kelly. _

_Certainly he had known about her and that she had caused little Sean's death in an accident while driving drunk. When he had proposed to Siobhan Martin/Charles had just begun really kicking off on a grand scale. It would have been more than foolish to marry her without knowing if she had any skeletons in her closet that could affect him and his business negatively in the future. He had been in love, true, but he hadn't been that far gone to ignore basic survival instincts. Besides Olivia had quite forceful insisted on it, too, and he could trust her to do what's right for the business, even kick his arse into shape, if necessary._

_This particular skeleton, however, hadn't come out of the closet; he had walked right in to it. _

* * *

He can't remember how long he had stayed under the hot spray of water, thinking.

* * *

_And when he stepped out he had made a decision. Not knowing where Siobhan was, if she was still alive and what Bridget Kelly knew and why she was in his apartment pretending to be her in the first place, he would take his clues from her and test her occasionally to figure her out. His first test he conducted immediately by returning only in his pyjama bottoms. There was no need to dress fully, if he'd possibly be out of them in a couple of minutes. If Bridget Kelly wanted to pose as his **loving** wife, she had better be prepared to go all the way, because if that was just another game Siobhan orchestrated from the background to destabilise him, he would change the set of rules. _

_His first test proved inconclusive. Bridget had curled herself into a ball and had turned her back to him. Even a blind man could read that huge „stay away" sign. He felt only a pang of frustration. _

* * *

To be frank, these days he is most of the time perfectly content to fall into bed and just sleep. He long admitted at least to himself, that he isn't twenty anymore when he had sat calmly and focussed through an exam, on which outcome the renewal of his Harvard Business School scholarship depended after honing his networking skills with Catherine at another frat party the night before, where he rubbed shoulders with the sons and daughters of potential future business partners or just potential business partners of their own ambition and making.

* * *

_But he was disappointed because it didn't give him much of a clue about what his sister-in-law knew about his marriage or about the rules of this new game. "Look but don't touch"? Well, that was an old one and Siobhan usually hated to repeat herself. Not knowing for sure, he floated with the stream to see where it would wash him up, got his shirt, slipped into bed and turned his back on her after a perfunctionary "good night", which she returned with a small, trembling voice. Had she been crying while he had been in the shower? Well, this time he would not don his shiny armour and mount his white horse to come to the damsel in distress's rescue. He'd done that once and look where it had got him. No, he would NOT! He told himself firmly. _

* * *

He takes out his special key. This one opens the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. He stares at it. Shall he use it? After what has happened, he's reluctant. He can't stop now no matter what, not as long as they haven't found the right moment to end this game. How else can he protect her, when he doesn't know what's going on and with Bridget still keeping secrets from him? He doesn't need another Charlie in their lives. He walks the few steps into the little side room, opens the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet and takes out the little recording device, courtesy of an old Harvard pal now in Homeland Security and returns to his desk to switch it on.

* * *

_When Siobhan stopped using her phone except for the most mundane calls and texts, he had known time was up for the both of them. She had figured it out and used another phone to make calls she didn't want him to know about. She was preparing to slip out of his control. He had decided then at this moment of realisation that there was no option left. He needed to kill her and set things in motion. She simply knew too much about his shadier business deals and had become a liability with the state of their marriage. She even had gone to see a divorce attorney, despite his best efforts to salvage things between them partly because she wanted it - probably as an attempt to lull him - and partly because there was still that longing in him for the way they had been before. They had been such an incredible team for which even the sky wasn't ever a limit. He didn't want to have to do it, it made him sick in his stomach, but it needed to be done. He needed to free himself. So he did. And he grieved for the irretrievable loss of his happy times with her. But the worldwide financial crash had shown him the bitter truth about his marriage. _

_The day after the fundraiser event he had sat for more than an hour and had listened to the last phone calls she had made during his stay in London. Nothing incriminating had turned up, which he hadn't really expected since Siobhan used this other phone he hadn't found yet, though he had searched every place he could think of – even the half-finished loft, but for one call. And that one had blown him away. It had confirmed his suspicion. That woman in his apartment was indeed Bridget Kelly, not Siobhan Martin playing the game of her life. She was desperate, scared, cornered and she was on the run from a man called Bodaway, presumably her abusive lover or husband, and from the police and ….. his wife had killed herself. He had stared a long time at her picture by the couch. Siobhan was dead. Had he felt relief or regret? Both. But he was free of her games and manipulations, of the threat of exposure; of losing everything he had worked so hard for all this adult life. That was what was important here. He had the documents back she had stolen from his home computer, when it had still been connected to the M/C network, and the only one besides Olivia knowing what he had done to further his business was dead, had killed herself. _

_Closure._

_Closure? _

_Not so much. Because now there was a sister who possibly knew. Maybe she hadn't the full picture, otherwise she would know, why Siobhan had killed herself. But she might know some things, might know just enough. And he didn't know how Siobhan had killed herself and where her body was._

_A new threat. _

_When Bridget wore Siobhan's red dress he was almost mad enough to kill her himself on the spot. That dress…. That night… years ago. He had been on his way to the bar to get Catherine a glass of champagne, when he had noticed the distressed woman in red. And instead of heading to the bar he had followed her out on the terrace of the Las Vegas Tangiers and witnessed her crying. Honestly crying while looking down at a small picture clutched in her hand. And he hadn't been able to help himself. He had stepped out of the shadows and offered her his handkerchief. Eight months later he had offered her an engagement ring. _

_That night he had only thought Bridget was trying to manipulate him by invoking feelings of a much happier time between him and Siobhan by wearing that dress – their special dress. The dress she hadn't worn in years. She, who changed her complete wardrobe twice a year, had left it in the wardrobe as a daily reminder for him of what he had lost, to torment him every morning and every evening. The dress he had begun to hate yet long for what it once stood for. _

_And then she had asked him why they couldn't be nice to each other for real. No more games. She surprised him so much that he couldn't help himself and slipped by asking who she was, really. And he had wanted to believe Bridget so very much that she meant it, that he could finally come home again to an ally and not an enemy and relax in her presence, but he couldn't allow himself to believe it. Not as long as he didn't know what Bridget knew, what her plans were and where he fit into them. _

_Again a couple of days later Bridget dropped another bombshell into his lap. His marriage was over, Siobhan dead and Bridget hunted by both sides of the judicial fence. And one of the sisters was pregnant. This was the worst timing ever! Though, who exactly was pregnant and by whom? When Bridget had got off the phone, she had looked appalled, apologising and as unhappy as he had been, when he overheard this phone call by accident. Originally he had wanted to discuss Juliet's situation with Bridget. He still couldn't quite believe it. It was one matter to rebel against him, against all authority, but drug abuse? His little girl? She was supposed to be smarter than that. But instead of discussing Juliet's accommodation and future schooling, he had stared at his wife, his mind racing. _

_If Siobhan was pregnant… who was the father? In all probability it was Henry, he had to admit. During the last months their sex life had become nearly non-existent. Siobhan preferred Henry as her lover and he hadn't had much interest in her either knowing about her affair and her threat to hand over the documents to the police, if he didn't do what she wanted. The couple of times they did sleep together, when they both felt mellow and nostalgic at the same time, very rarely though; all reason said it couldn't have been enough to get her pregnant by him. Still Siobhan had killed herself and her unborn child. She had taken two lives, and if he had been responsible for one of the two lives, he couldn't bear thinking about it. And worse, he had contracted the murder of her and her child. Possibly his own child! His very own child! He had made it barely to the toilet before he lost the content of his stomach. He had hit rock bottom. He was now officially scum of the worst kind. He looked around. Was this all worth it? Where had his integrity gone? His honesty and his conscience? His sanity? He had cried then. Cried for his memory of his wife, for this child, no matter if it was Henry's or his and cried for all he had lost. He had let it slide from his hands. He had let others take it away from him while he had been busy looking elsewhere. And he had it deliberately thrown away as well. _

_But if it was Bridget, who was pregnant… who was the father? This guy Bodaway she was on the run from or this Malcolm she had called in distress? He resolved it didn't matter, who the father was, if that phone call had truly been intended for Bridget. He would accept it as his own. And if it meant living a lie, if it meant accepting Bridget as his wife, so be it. He would never know, if the dead child had been his, provided Siobhan had been pregnant. But this one, if it was Bridget's, was his chance to make things right again. He would take care of mother and child. He would not repeat his mistakes. This child was his beacon that would lead him back into light._

_And that meant to call off the contract on his wife's murder immediately._

* * *

Be so kind to leave a comment?_  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Episode TWO – Two and a Half Women**

AN: The title bears no connection to the TV series "Two and a half men". I don't even know what's about it. I just thought the title fitting – Siobhan, Bridget, Oliva: the women in Andrew's life (from his point of view, but I will comment on that more in depth in ep 9, I think), though I do find Olivia to be a beautiful woman with a far more interesting face than the twins. And if I could choose, I'd rather have Olivia's body than Shivette's, to be honest.

I'd like to thank you for the kind and encouraging reviews. I hope I will satisfy the high expections expressed by my cherished readers.

Oh, and I admit this chapter is rather short, but there really wasn't that much to say. The other ones will be longer, I promise.

* * *

_At least he had thought he had got out of the deal, he had negotiated with the Baruso Family. He'd do a bit of money laundering; they'd do a bit of killing: a win/win situation, minimal risk. But then he heard the story when he had listened in again the night after the cocktail party. Bridget had killed in self-defence and learnt by doing so that Siobhan had been the intended victim. It had given her a possible motive for her otherwise so incomprehensible suicide - fear. And it was somehow fitting, that the formidable Siobhan chose death on her own terms, if she saw no way out anymore, instead of waiting for it like a sacrificial lamb. But it had also given her the clue that there had been something seriously wrong in her sister's life. And that someone else was now after her as Siobhan. It must have made her feel even more cornered and scared. She had no place safe to go anymore. She had to stay and fight it out._

* * *

Just thinking about the night of the cocktail party he breaks into a sweat and makes him want to have another drink. If he had known then Bridget had killed the man in the loft…. He would never ever have thought about hoisting the party there. They had come so close that night to losing everything. But Bridget had saved them. And all he had been thinking about had been testing Bridget to see what she would do, if she could handle the pressure of being a high-profile wife. It had been a stupid move. And unnecessary. He had been playing games, while she had been fighting for their lives.

But he likes to think this was the last time he had let her deliberately down. He stopped playing petty games with her. With her a fugitive from Macawi, the FBI and the mess with Gemma and Siobhan, he knows they have to stick together. They depend on each other. And he rather likes the thought to stand with her like she promised to stand with him. Now they're truly married. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer. But that night, he hadn't known yet.

* * *

_When the Amandar Soho had been flooded, he had immediately set things in motion, thought about an alternative location, made sure the hotel would still provide the catering, contacted the event manager and the building manager. Only then he called Bridget to put the pressure on her, certainly not without having a back-up plan, if she crumbled. But she didn't. She handled the event people, the caterers, got a dress, made up her hair and all this in less than three hours. She had been fabulous and pulled nothing short of a miracle out of her invisible bags of tricks. She had passed his test with flying colours.  
_

* * *

He remembers watching her carefully but unobtrusively the entire evening. He watched her through his gentle flattering of bored wives and super rich heiresses, when he deflected politely the occasional pass on him, which seriousness always depended on the lateness of the hour and the amount of alcohol consumed and through the moments, when he buttered up potential investors trying to convince them that Martin/Charles were the best choice to multiply their millions.

Olivia is the financial genius of Martin/Charles, but he is the strategic mastermind that guides her instincts and the Brand. He makes women feel appreciated and men comfortable by being on par with them. And he handles the ones, who might have a problem to do business with such a power woman like Olivia. Her height, austere beauty and statue, her upper class Queen's English, her intelligence, her drive, her ruthlessness: all this tends to intimidate lesser men, while it also makes the alpha males want her, tame her and subdue her. It's a dangerous cocktail of primitive emotions she invokes in men as well in women and he takes the heat out of it by attracting the emotional attention towards himself and by extension towards Siobhan.

He knows now, having watched Bridget in comparison, that Siobhan had never able to really cope with it. Her own ambition to stand in the spotlight had always collided with Olivia's sheer presence in a room. More often than not he had felt like a referee between the egos of the two women in his life. Siobhan had never been fully satisfied to be the wife in the background. His non-committal, very mild flirting, while necessary, hadn't helped. Somewhere down the road it got to her to have to stand by and watch Olivia reeling in powerful men, while she had been relegated to entertain the unimportant trophy wives. And finally one day she had stopped trusting him to stay faithful despite all, maybe because she had projected her own infidelity onto him.

Bridget on the other hand is satisfied to stand at the sidelines. While Olivia and he landed six new investors that night, who would bring another 45 millions to the company, she had provided the perfect background. She had created a gentle atmosphere of general well being, being catered to and taken care of. What Bridget lacks in experience and education she makes up with her natural charms and an honest smile.

* * *

_She made her rounds, looked after their guests, talked to everyone, created amused laughter here and there and left people with a sincere smile on their faces, which was the hardest thing to do for such an audience of overfed, bored and jaded high society members. And she had taken care of the larger and smaller problems such an event always came with. She had held up against Olivia's usual nettling and sparing. She had been unconditionally on his side. Not being able to remember when that had been the last time with Siobhan, she had blown him away. Bridget would be able to walk in Siobhan's shoes. She would be able to replace his wife in the eye of the public. He was sure of it. _

_Besides, staying with him was the sensible thing to do for her, he concluded. Siobhan was dead, Bridget was the carbon copy of her. No one would ever suspect a thing as long as no one else knew that they were twins. Bridget was nowhere else safer than at his side posing as Siobhan. She had to know that! Then why did she want to leave? Where did she go at nights? To be with Malcolm? And who was this Professor Malcolm Ward from Rocky Springs Community College anyway? What exactly was their relationship like? He was her sponsor and her friend. What did she need a sponsor for? Siobhan's son had been killed while Bridget had been driving drunk. Had Bridget an alcohol problem? If so, she had it far better under control than Siobhan, who had tended to overindulge when she had felt bored or he hadn't taken the glass out of her hand in time. The entire evening he had seen her with a glass of champagne in her hand, but never had he watched her drink from it, not once. So how much was Malcolm responsible for that? _

_In any case, it was an unusual close relationship between them, if the man, who promised to be whatever she needed him to be, was_ _prepared to leave everything behind to help her. Had there once been more between them? Was still more between them? Had it been more for Bridget? Was it still more for her? If he was the father of Bridget's child, then why hadn't she told him yet? Wasn't that a woman's first impulse? Didn't she tell him, because this impersonation of Siobhan was only temporary for Bridget? And she rather told him in person than over the phone? _

_That night he had told her how pleased he was with her and how grateful. In not so many words he had told her he needed her. Not in the least to keep the Baruso Family and their demands in check and the police out of his hair. He told her he wanted her to stay when all she wanted to do was run. _

_And when he saw her holding Juliet in the bathroom he felt the first flutter of hope that maybe he could even regain with Bridget, what he had lost with Siobhan. That it could become more than a business arrangement to redeem him. That it would possibly be even better. She took care of Juliet, had dumped Henry and she fought to keep the FBI out of their lives... _

_It felt not only the Siobhan he had fallen in love with had returned, this was somehow even an enhanced version. And then he heard it from herself. She would stay for the sake of Siobhan and because she felt needed. He knew he had already considerably softened towards her as herself against his will for the things she was doing to improve their lives. Softened enough to have Claudine arrange a personal fitting with one of Siobhan's favourite designers as a reward...and as an attempt to wow Bridget, to show her what it meant to be Mrs. Andrew Martin, so she had truly no reason anymore to run away to Malcolm, but stay with Juliet and him. _

_They needed her more than he did._

* * *

Be nice and leave a comment before you go?_  
_


	3. Chapter 3

AN: It can be argued that the famous dress at the end of ep 3 is dark green or black with a greenish tint or just black or if it's a trick of light that makes it either. For my story line I declare it to be a dark green.

* * *

Episode THREE – Green

* * *

As he refills his whisky glass, he sees his "BEWARE OF GRUMPY BOSS" mug: a daring gag gift from Claudine with a strong message to stop taking his bad mood out on her. He's well aware of the fact that Olivia and he got the nickname "the beauty and the beast", and who is who is interchangeable. Still, he's afraid for the longest time he's been the beast in his employees' eyes, running around and roaring like a lion with a thorn in his paw when things with Siobhan were at their worst. It pleases him to see that a thin layer of dust coats it by now. Still, he ought to let Claudine know. It doesn't do well for clients OR employees to see sloppy cleaning.

* * *

_The morning of the fitting had started fabulous. Against all odds Catherine had not only been for once in Miami, but had also agreed to take Juliet in. In hindsight it should have made him suspicious, because it had been far too easy to persuade her. Bridget had been up early and had made him coffee. She needn't have to do this considering her bout of morning sickness. It made him remember the first year of his marriage to Siobhan. While he wasn't much of a breakfast eater, he used to have his morning cup with Siobhan while they had been chatting about their plans for the day. The entire morning he felt soft warmth from that mug of coffee Bridget had made him and basked in his anticipation of her reaction when she would step into Douglas Hennant's™ dress room. Siobhan had loved or at least appreciated these kinds of gift. _

_In fact, he was still in such a good mood that he was even glad to see Henry when he came to see him. With cold satisfaction hidden under faked concern he watched Henry reaching for the whisky. Now the man began to experience how it felt when your wife drove you to drinking. For the first time in way too many months he didn't feel secretly humiliated in Henry's presence who made the nature-boys' look of jeans and a shirt the haute of fashion. Was that the attraction for Siobhan? The very noticeable contrast to Andrew, who could barely remember the last time he had worn jeans and a t-shirt? _

_Coming to think about it, it must have been around the second Gulf War, when he still let his curls grow out. Olivia and he had emptied a bottle of the most exquisite champagne Picholine had to offer after the first 100 dead soldiers, because if the poor devils had to die anyway, the least patriotic gesture they could offer to make their death mean something, was to make the most profit out of it._ _They had returned dividends in double-digits for the first time for the handfuls of their first investors consisting of a couple of Andrew's loyal and trusting frat brothers, Catherine's relatives and Olivia's investors she had brought with her into the freshly founded company Martin/Charles when she had left Lehman Brothers, got about ten new investors who had taken notice of the new talent on the market and eventually created __**Andrew Martin™**__: the smart, sophisticated, attractive, charming yet cool calculating and occasionally ruthless British gentleman with nerves of steel, who wears designer suits straight out of Savile Row and manages to squeeze a dime out of a dollar, where others get only cents, in a nutshell: the James Bond of Finances. _

_He switched on his salesman persona for clients he preferred not to have – Olivia called it his used car seller impersonation. If Henry wanted to talk business, he would get official and adjusted discretely his tie out of habit. He rejoiced seeing his rival off-balance and cooking up insane ideas of self-publishing a book. But if the man wanted to throw away his wife's money - it was an open secret that while Gemma had taken on Henry's name, he really was only Mr. Gemma Arbogast - who was he to stand in his way? Let the man dig his own grave. Tim Arbogast would string him up by his balls until he sang soprano for throwing his daughter's hard earned money out of the window. And he, Andrew Martin, would pay a year's income to get a ticket for a seat in the front row. Yes, it had been one overall terrific morning._

* * *

Walking down that particular memory lane, he wonders, if Henry knows that he, Andrew knew about their affair since that morning about a year ago when he had turned over and seen a spot of dried semen not even ten inches away from his face half hidden under Siobhan's pillow, knowing **he** definitely hadn't left it there? And from then on, it had been just a matter of calling his old pal Josh and a bit of easy listening to learn who took what didn't belong to them. Often enough the man's gazes held a grating challenge, smugness and animosity when they had been without their wives. It doesn't matter anymore if Henry knows he knows, he decides after a moment of mulling the thought over. For a while it had looked as if Henry was winning the battle, but he, Andrew, had won the war - at least in Henry's eyes and that was what ultimately counted. Let the enemy defeat themselves, was Andrew's maxim. Andrew had known the moment he had claimed Bridget's child officially as his own and seen from the corner of his eye "Siobhan" leaving Henry all alone who had been looking like a defeated, kicked puppy in their favourite club.

The Cuba Libre had never tasted sweeter.

* * *

_And then Jack Lewis had called, all false sympathy and true curiosity, to tip the unlucky husband off that his wife was meeting with a divorce attorney before he would gleefully call all his friends to spread the news. And all ugly doubts had resurfaced in a heartbeat. One sister was like the other and not in a good way. He had been so sure he had seen through the plan Bridget had come up with. She would establish herself as Siobhan, go through the divorce in a while and then ride into sunset with __**Malcolm**__to live on his money ever happily after. Sure, why should she content herself with just a bag of money she'd probably steal by clearing out Siobhan's account, if she could have a truckload of it when she divorced him? Well, she would be in for a rude wake-up, if she were stupid enough to go for it - contrary to her sister. He had irrefutable proof of Siobhan's affair with Henry and this time there were no incriminating documents to bind his hands._

_Fuming he had immediately gone home to confront Bridget, still carefully avoiding to let her know he knew her secret. He didn't trust her enough to let her know that he knew. Not knowing was his safety net. If his wife's body was ever found, he would rather look like a complete and utter blind and ignorant idiot than being questioned why he had stayed with an impostor instead of trying to find his wife or why he had never informed the authorities about her death. He would look suspicious in the least. Maybe they would even accuse him of being in cahoots with Bridget and having a hand in his wife's death. No, he preferred to be a free idiot to be the smart cellmate of a man called Big Gun. _

_227 Pratt Street had been the last straw for him. He had gone more rounds with Siobhan over this worthless pile of brick and asbestos-laced mortar than Cassius Clay in his hardest fights. He had given Bridget a chance. He had taken her in. He had given her shelter and protection, food and clothes. He accepted her as Siobhan's substitute. He didn't exact marital rights. He wanted to raise her child as his own. He overlooked that she had killed a man in self-defence, that she must have hidden a gun in the apartment, but freaked out when Juliet brought home drugs. He'd cope with her alcohol problem. He even got her a designer gown, which would probably cost him more than the guy on nightshift in the entrance hall made in a year before taxes. _

_And this was how she thanked him? Why was it never enough what he did? Once again he was nothing more than a stepping-stone for a Kelly sister. If it weren't for the tiny fact that she alone knew what had happened to Siobhan, he would have kicked her out on the spot. Gradually he realised it wasn't guilt he read in her face but fear. What had made her fear him? Why couldn't she trust him? Didn't she know him one bit by now after all these years? He couldn't believe her gall. **He** hadn't killed anyone. **She** on the other hand had two lives on her conscience and cuckolded him.** She** had no room to take the moral high ground in their marriage. **She** cheated and **she** lied. In fact, his thoughts became so jumbled he couldn't distinguish any longer between Siobhan and Bridget, between past and present time, between past hurts and fresh wounds. _

_In the beginning he had relished the challenge and that Siobhan had relentlessly driven him on. These years had been his most successful with them opening affiliates in London, Frankfurt, Tokyo, even Paris just to please her and creating post box companies on the Cayman's and the Channel Island Jersey. And he had been so proud every time to come home and be able to tell they had managed to land another heavy loaded investor, had had again the right hunch about the market's development, contracted another deal that would bring high returns for them and to collect his reward from Siobhan. He took bigger and bigger risks, crossed the line between risky deals to shady deals just to see her eyes light up in admiration. He had pawned the last remnants of his conscience to her. But then the routine had got old and he had begun to see through her. She pushed him constantly because he couldn't fully satisfy her needs. She was insatiable, craving forever "more", needing higher and higher doses of "success" to find satisfaction like an addict. It was a crippling blow to his self-confidence to realise he simply wasn't enough for Siobhan. He made millions a year, played golf with senators, helped her getting into every charity committee she wanted to be in, gave her everything she wanted, made love to her for hours without paying any heed to his own satisfaction, and still she craved "more". What was it that Henry could give her, but not he? Was he a super stud on aphrodisiacs with an in-built GPS tracker for the elusive G-point? Was he better looking, more charming, wittier than boring old Andrew? Easy enough for him. Henry in his virile prime only sat back and let his imagination run wild between visits to the gym. He was well rested. He, Andrew, on the other hand had to watch his diet because of all these business dinners, drinks and long hours chained to his chair in the office working hard in order to stay ahead of the pack and let Siobhan max out her platinum credit cards and still direct unpaid invoices to his office for settlement. _

_Well, he had been through with feeling insecure and sorry for himself and taken back the initiative in this game. At least that was what he had been telling himself when he finally held the only copy of the stolen documents in his hands. He had thought he had got over it and regained his confidence. And it had taken only one lousy phone call to throw him back to square one._

_And Bridget had fumbled through phoney excuses and poor flattery of the dress being an amazing gesture. He had so been fed up with her in that moment, that he couldn't stand being in the same room with her for one second longer. So he had fled to his office, one big ball of rage, pain and anguish and had nearly chopped Olivia's head off after the fight with Henry on top. Why couldn't she give it a rest? She hadn't been there, when Tim Arbogast had torn strips off him many years ago, coldly informing him that he never supported the businesses of any of Gemma's friends on principle and that Martin/Charles were just some upstart youngsters with a loud mouth and a few lucky hunches as references. When Arbogast had been through with him, he had left that man's office feeling like a six years old knowing he had wet his pants. Besides, if he ever learnt that Andrew Martin's second wife slept with his daughter's first husband... no, it was better to stay friends with Gemma and avoid attracting Tim Arbogast's interest, even if it was him these days who kicked overconfident youngsters out of his office far more often than he was politely complimented out of others. _

_Eventually he had calmed enough to be a bit more reasonable about it and listened to her phone calls hoping they might give him a clue what had changed so fast between them in the span of two days. She suspected him of foul play where his sister was concerned. Well, it was true, but that wasn't the point! He was the good guy here; certainly not **her** enemy, how could she not know that? In her confused fear Bridget could have easily shot him if she had had her gun in easy reach! Or that giant letter opener Olivia had given him for their first anniversary as an acknowledgment of his talent to slice his opponents open and leave them to bleed dry without any chance of recovery. And who had he to thank for it? **Malcolm** again, the velvety voice of understanding and reason. If she needed advice, it was her place to come to him for it. She was his responsibility now, not some professor from a second-rate college in a backwater town._

_And then... Bridget had come to him, all dressed up and ready to go to the ballet. But she didn't. It was more important to her to make things right again with him. And to show him what his money had bought him._

* * *

He raises his eyes over his desk to a spot next to the sitting arrangement, right in the middle of his office. He can still see her standing there in his mind's eye. It's burned into his memory.

* * *

_Bridget or Siobhan for that matter had never looked this unearthly beautiful before in that dark green gown in the soft light of his office. She had taken his breath away. And then she had opened up to him and said she had stopped listening to what other people, read: Siobhan's complaints and lies, had told her. She had made up her own picture of him and he was found worthy in her eyes. All fatigue and guardedness fell off and he soared to such new heights that they manifested in his need to rise from his chair and tell her how beautiful she was to him._

* * *

To his dying day he will never forget the sparkle in her eyes and the soft and pleased smile on her face. She practically glowed.

* * *

_It broke the thick layer of ice he had grown around his heart for protection. Finally, he got the feeling back of being worth more than his pocketbook. And he understood that it wasn't the dress per se, it was the emotion that commanded him to give such a precious gift to her that turned things around for them. He finally understood the difference between the sisters. Siobhan judged by material, Bridget by immatrial things. Yet, he tested her again. He had to be sure. He was in such an emotionally vulnerable state and Siobhan such an accomplished player of mind games. Who was to say Bridget wasn't as well? She needed his good will to stay safe in New York_. _Was Bridget committed enough to make it work with him? Or did she just tell him what he wanted to hear? And she responded. Still a bit reluctant and slightly forced, but she made that one step to meet him halfway. _

_When they had stood at the window overlooking the city, _as he does now once more by retracing their steps of that night_, the knot of jumbled thoughts dissolved in his mind. Once there had been Siobhan. Now there was Bridget. She wanted to move forward – with him. She wanted to leave her old life behind. She wanted to start afresh, look at things with a new appreciation and be grateful and satisfied with what she's got. And if she could, then he could as well. If she could ignore what preconceived notions she had about him, he could as well. If she could trust him, so could he. If she was in for the long haul, so would he. Siobhan and he had not only been lovers, in the beginning they had been in total synch and shared the same goals in life. And now there was a real chance for Bridget and him to become at least friends. She wouldn't run anymore. He would learn to appreciate her for herself, as her own person and start looking for the difference not the similarity._

_Their special dress would be dark green. Green was the colour of hope and luscious, fruitful life. Red, not only the colour of love and passion but also of danger, held no appeal to him anymore. And he knew, given time, he could fall out of love with his memory of Siobhan and in love with Bridget, the lady in green. _

_A fresh start indeed for both of them. Bridget, meet Andrew. Andrew, this is Bridget._


	4. Chapter 4

**Episode FOUR – Bonnie and Clyde**

He yawns heartily. The lack of a decent night's sleep for the past few weeks slowly catches up with him. He is just glad that Bridget rests better at night these days. It has begun to get quite worrisome with her nightmares and nightly excursions, which have stopped now though. He glances at his watch. About half past ten. But he forgot he had his glass in his left hand and now a few drops have spilled onto his tie. Frowning he rubs at it cursing his clumsiness and hoping it won't leave stains. Who knows for how much longer will he be able to afford $400 ties, if he does the right thing, especially now with Arbogast grieving? But can he afford not to slay that old dying elephant bull? If they don't, others WILL. Every instinct in him screams at him to do it and he doesn't know for how much longer he can hold back Olivia either. She smells the blood in the air and has been pacing her cage for weeks now. And even if Bridget would probably be perfectly content to stay with him and Juliet in a tiny two-bedroom-flat in Brooklyn, she deserves so much more than a down and out pretend-to-be-husband. And he mustn't forget he has responsibilities towards Juliet, Olivia, 427 employees and their families all over the world and their investors and their families, too. There are not alone his life and his money on the line here. So, what's really the right thing to do? Besides, this tie was a birthday present from Siobhan; her last birthday present ever to him. Thinking about birthdays he's transported back to Bridget's first one they celebrated together.

* * *

_He had been in their wardrobe about to knot his tie, when he heard her start trashing on their bed and had immediately rushed back. He'd become quite proficient in very gently calming her down at night. Sometimes she even relaxed enough into a slight smile. More than once he wondered what she was dreaming about. Was it about Siobhan's death - still a mystery to him, the crime she had witnessed, that criminal Bodaway as he had learnt him to be by now by googling his name, the man she killed, about him finding out or something different altogether? Some unknown horror he couldn't even imagine? During her pregnancy Catherine had a lot of nightmares about getting so bloated up that she doesn't give birth but just bursts and baby, intestines and everything spills out or about Juliet being born sick or disabled in any way. Contrary to him Catherine hadn't been much looking forward to being a parent, feeling at the age of twenty-one far too young for such a responsibility. Did Bridget feel not ready with her life so uncertain and in danger? But this time he wouldn't leave the frightened expecting mother alone to pursue his career at J.P. Morgan, which hadn't gone over well with his in-laws back then. He had been allowed to marry into the Farnsworth Family – Massachusetts branch -, therefore it had been expected that he certainly would put all of his efforts and talent into furthering the Family's fortune by joining the family owned investment company directly after graduating from Harvard Business School, seeing as he hadn't brought any money worth counting into the marriage. _

_When he saw Bridget sitting up disoriented on his side of the bed, he was flattered for a second or two. She must have moved over to his side after he had sneaked quietly out of bed. It pleased him to imagine that she might have known subconsciously that he had left and was looking for him and the protection his presence provided or seeking the warmth he had left behind. Or this was just a result of her trashing; his mind helpfully supplied a more realistic explanation. In any case it wouldn't have been helpful to get mushy all over the place, the more since Bridget didn't know what he was doing to help her find rest during the night and it would confuse her even more, so he just turned around to knot his tie in the mirror, still watching her carefully and voicing his worries. Immediately she tried to distance herself again by wanting to go to the Hamptons all by herself. But Andrew wasn't having any of this anymore. If she wanted to make it work between them, she would have to let him in. Besides it was her birthday, for crying out loud! It flabbergasted him to learn that Bridget had forgotten about her birthday. This was so unlike Siobhan, who had always insisted on making it a big event and started talking about what she'd like to get weeks in advance – the more the better. A confetti parade with the National Guard and music bands right on Time Square would have been the ultimate gift for her, he had often teased her. Bridget being alone on her birthday was not good for her. He would not see her lonely and getting depressed on her special day, even if he had to do it by gently forcing her to accept his lead. New friends should surround her, especially since she was so far removed from her home and her old friends. _

_He was even more aghast to hear her suggesting she'd take the Jitney. This would never do, he realised. Bridget needed to learn as quickly as possible that there was only one way Siobhan did things – in the most expensive and exclusive way on principle. So he made a joke about the subway and hoped she got his message. It pleased him that she had at least a quick come back ready and was by now relaxed enough in his presence that she started teasing him in return. He still knew so little about her and what she would like to do on her special day was a complete mystery to him. So he suggested they'd do what Siobhan had loved to do - going to the Hamptons for the usual Siobhan-birthday-get-away. It was high time she learnt a bit more about her sister's habits, preferences and their history, so she would be better prepared for her life as Siobhan and not be taken unaware by the hyenas she'd meet sooner or later in their circle. He could do that discretely while they were away from curious eyes. It appealed to his playful side to do this without her even noticing and flattered his ego to be cleverer than she. It would be just a little harmless game._

_He would invite the Butlers. It would help ease her into her role as Siobhan and they were the ones most likely to keep quiet about any of her blunders. But they were also the closest friends they had; they'd be the litmus test for Bridget's impersonation. The more he thought about it, the more he loved the idea. He had such fond memories and missed these weekends when things were still great between him and Siobhan and Gemma and Henry. Or when it was just the two of them. They'd sleep in, read the Sunday edition of the New York Times and try to solve the crossword puzzle, walk along the surf, take out the boat, talk about all and everything under the sun, watch the sun go down, light a fire in the fire-place, snuggle up against each other under their warm blanket in winter and watch some cheesy movie with only token protest from him or some football game of his favourite UK team and make love until they saw the sun come up again. It was his time-out from New York City and its demands. Full of anticipation he sailed out of their bedroom, already planning how to best sneak out of office and dump his workload on Olivia. _

_He couldn't believe how much it felt like old times. He was walking along the surf with Bridget like he used to with Siobhan and they talked about all and everything. All was just like it used to be. And it felt so great. The gentle breeze, the sun's autumn warmth, the gentle laughter of his wife and her teasing of him. He relaxed and put the text he had received from the Baruso family lawyer with the polite order to call them to the back of his mind. They were pissed that one of their hitmen had been killed by "Siobhan" and demanded M/C would do their bit. Well, they hadn't held up their end of the bargain first, as much as Andrew was concerned. They had had two weeks to kill Siobhan and hadn't taken any action, claiming she hadn't been able to find. And then they had taken action only AFTER Andrew had called off the contract. They owed each other nothing but one phone that Bridget hadn't returned as insurance against them which was really a good thing. It might come in handy, if the Barusos didn't back off soon. But he really didn't want think about work. He wanted to think of Siobhan's birthday. He wanted to live just in the moment. He just wanted to walk along the beach with this beautiful woman at his side. He felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into the illusion. And he embraced it wholeheartedly. He forgot about his intention to educate Bridget on Siobhan's life and their problems, telling his side of the story for once. He wanted to believe he was forever walking with Siobhan at his side. _

_But the perfect illusion of walking with Siobhan forever was suddenly broken by a noise. They were not alone in the house – burglars. But if they wanted something he owned, they would have to get through him first. What was Andrew Martin's stayed Andrew Martin's. So he took the poker and followed the noise until he heard raised voices and realised it was only the Butlers, who had used their keys to let themselves in, and was harshly reminded of their purpose being here. So he ignored his own disappointment and manipulated an equally not too pleased Bridget into welcoming them. Leaving the ladies alone to get the bags the poker felt heavy in his hand and for a moment Andrew entertained the idea to give in to his instincts and strike Henry down. But the idea was gone as quickly as it came. There was no need for jealousy anymore, even if Siobhan's order to just take it, keep quiet and appearances up, if he wished for a chance of reconciliation or just remaining a free man, didn't apply anymore. He could afford to be generous. Besides, it would just be plain stupid. And he wasn't. _

_At night he couldn't sleep. It was Siobhan's birthday. His thoughts kept going rounds and rounds. What happened to Siobhan? Where was her body? Did she drown? Did she cut her wrists? Did she overdose on sleeping pills? Did he drive her to it? He would never have pegged her as suicidal, no matter what. With her stubborn streak a mile wide Siobhan didn't know how to give in graciously. What if her body was found? WHERE WAS SHE? Was she close by on the premises or far away? What exactly happened when the sisters met? What had Bridget done with her life since he had married Siobhan? Trying to google her had been an exercise in frustration and futility. While there was tons of information available about one Bridget Kelly – pop-singer from New York City – there was next to none about other women with that name. He had found a 2 year old Bridget Kelly from Chicago, another Bridget Kelly was an old granny in Tampa, Florida and five more in Irland and the UK. And then there had been one high-school picture of the class of '95, which he had already seen before, with her standing next to Siobhan. And nothing else No address, no phone number, no police report from that accident years ago, no Facebook, no nothing. He realised the FBI must have very thoroughly removed any traces of this Bridget Kelly from the internet in an act to protect her from Macawi. _

_Which was quite understandable. That man was a nasty piece of work. Though... what had Bridget done in that strip club? The last he had heard of her was, that she had worked as a sales girl in a lingerie shop by day and had just submitted her application for evening classes at the community college. It had seemed her wild days of being the town's own notorious party girl had passed. Had she been there for a delivery of the girls' 'working clothes'? And just had got caught up in this nightmare? _

_The impulse to confront Bridget to finally get the answers hit him more than once during the night. What had Bridget done to Siobhan's body? He watched her on the beach throwing stuff into a campfire. Was that how she managed to hide the body? Had she burned her own sister? Or had she chained her body to a heavy rock and sunk her into the bay? Well that was far more realistic, because it took quite a bonfire to burn a body. Someone **would** have noticed, even if most of the houses were deserted during the week. In any case he was horrified. What kind of person did that? But the more he thought about her and her likely story, the more she began to fascinate, even excite him. Really, she was just like him. Their survival instincts were exceptionally strong. They stuck at nothing if the situation called for it and if they were desperate enough. It made him feel like Bonnie and Clyde. They would outsmart them all! This was the ultimate game! Smiling he kept watching her for a while longer, until the fire had burnt down and she came back to the house. Shoulders hunched by fatigue and a heavy burden. He went to bed and pretended to be asleep as he always did when she sneaked in again after her late night excursions. Gently, gently she got under the covers. When her breath evened out, he rolled over and his hand hovered over her naked, pale looking shoulder in the moon light, for the first time wanting to touch and caress, but in the end he just pulled up the cover, lest she did get cold. She was not alone in this, even if she didn't know. _

_After having watched her the entire day interacting with their friends and him as an almost perfect impersonation of Siobhan, he couldn't believe she blundered so badly. Watching her eat the hors d'oeuvre with ham it hit him like a ton of bricks and really brought the truth home to him for good. This was NOT Siobhan. She was NOT a carbon copy of her. This was a completely different woman, a woman he did NOT know, even if she did sometimes things that Siobhan did the same way, held her head the same way, used the same expressions and shared many opinions with her sister. She was NOT Bonnie and he was NOT Clyde and what the hell were they thinking? They couldn't possibly hope to get away with this charade!_ _This was madness!_ _Wall Street's own James Bond, who had sat calmly and collected during the search of his offices in New York, London and on Jersey by the SEC and their sister organisation in the UK last year, panicked for the first time ever and made things even worse by picking up Gemma's comment instead of glossing over it._

_But she came up with an excuse so ingenious, she took once more his breath away. Again, her quick thinking on her feet saved them. That woman was incredibly amazing!_ _He couldn't help it, this time he had to touch her shoulder, kiss her in relief. Happy birthday, 'my little_ _Bonnie'. He added in his mind._ _She looked so much like a little girl at this moment. 'Did I do it right, Andrew? Are you satisfied with me?' the expression on her face seemed to ask him. And yes, by god, yes, she did and he was. Succumbing to a wave of tenderness, he pushed back a strand of her hair. She tried so hard to be what he wanted her to be and for this alone she deserved his best efforts to make it work between them, starting with giving her the best birthday ever. So he went out to oversee the last minute preparations, helped the waiters to lit up the millions of candles and explained the schedule for the evening again. Nothing would ruin it. He couldn't wait for her to come out, because he knew, it would please her. He would do whatever he could to ease her pain of celebrating her dead sister's birthday. It was hard for him, too. He had loved Siobhan so much, then less and less, until he loved the memory of the good times and no longer the woman she had become. And then Bridget came, saw and was genuinely delighted. And her happy smile took away his pain._

_Her obvious pleasure ignited his good mood. He had done things right for once. She could steal all his food, he didn't mind. Was even happy to have her so comfortable with him that she succumbed to the ages old instinct to steal food from her man as a sign of belonging. He discovered he loved being claimed by her, so he would gladly provide her with everything she might need and not because it was part of their unspoken business arrangement. What was his was hers, his equally ages old instincts responded. She had only to reach out for him, give him one little sign that she wanted more out of their little deal. Looking at Henry's sullen face, he couldn't help himself and laid his arm in a proprietary gesture on Bridget's chair to rub more salt into Henry's wounds. Last birthday, Henry had pleased his wife and he had to sit and watch, this year, this birthday the tables were turned. It was Andrew again she smiled for, turned to and expressed her delight to. _

_But Gemma destroyed his sweet feeling of victory and as a consequence Bonnie's perfect birthday. Did she feel unwell? Had she found out? Henry's eyes reflected his own worries. And for the first time there had been some unspoken understanding and recognition regarding the affair between them. Because Gemma was unpredictable, when she was upset._

* * *

Please leave a comment?_  
_


	5. Chapter 5

Episode FIVE – Thou Shalt (Not)

AN: I apologise for not posting for the last few weeks, but first it was a writer's block and then some serious thinking about where I want to go with this storyline, and then some rewriting of the chapter, and then to top things my computer broke down. Something to do with the Bios a computer pal of mine figures. Well, I don't know how long it will take to fix it or if it's fixable at all, but he let me have a couple of minutes at his computer to send the fifth instalment of my story.

* * *

Anyway, fatigue and alcohol is not a good combination. Staring into his glass he asks himself how many he had so far tonight and how many it were yesterday, the day before yesterday, last week, last month or even last year. Way too many he decides and pours the rest of his whiskey down the drain. When did a glass or three became his usual after work decompression aid and stress reliever? When had it become normal to have a glass of wine to dinner, even if it was just ordinary take-out? What kind of example did he, did they set for Juliet? How often had she seen her parents, her parent's friends and business partners with a glass in their hand or more or less discretely wiping their noses on their return from the bathroom? In anger, frustration, anxiety, happiness, at parties and celebrations, when bored or just when the mood or withdrawal struck them? Did she learn this way that drinking and using drugs were normal, acceptable behaviour? And her friends didn't saw it any different at their homes. Caught up in their own hectic lives, miseries and worries over work, money or a crumbling relationship they forgot or stopped caring about how much children saw. They failed their children. How much he had failed Juliet, he realised, when they had returned from the Hamptons.

* * *

_The first thing he noticed when the elevator doors had opened was the bright writing on Siobhan's photo. And his first thought had been: Gemma knows! Only then he paid attention to the pounding music reverberating through the entire apartment. Hoping for the best and really expecting the worst he searched his way through empty bottles, bags of sweets and potato chips, half-eaten food, cigarette ashes, confetti and paper streamers. WHERE WAS JULIET? And if he hadn't been so furious, he would have spared a thought for his parents. Finally he knew what it felt like coming home to a trashed house and half-comatose children. What was WRONG with Juliet? Why wasn't she with her mother? What had happened in Miami to push his daughter over the edge? What had Catherine said to her to make Bridget's progress with Juliet null and void? He had no time to go back to family therapy with them. It hadn't helped anyway. In fact it had gone so bad that Siobhan had refused to let herself being terrorised any longer by a jealous eleven years old acting out. In the end he had seen no other option but to send Juliet away to boarding school since Catherine refused point blank to take her in, caught up in her new love with a concert promoter and accompanying him all over the world on tour. Besides, if he had been so hell-bent on getting her, he should keep her, she had spit. _

_Furious he began to clean up the mess. He had been so hopeful, when he had seen them in the bathroom. So what had changed it all? Why was Juliet blowing hot and cold? Confused he followed Bridget into Juliet's bedroom, watching her search for drugs. But hadn't he confiscated those after he had picked her up from the airport? And why did Bridget evidently know what she was talking about? He had never heard of Oxycodon before, let alone the symptoms of abuse. Apart from that, Juliet was his little girl. He had tucked her in, read countless bed time stories - if he had been at home for her bedtime - , sung to her clandestinely, carried her around for hours in the night, when she couldn't sleep or had been unwell. He had taught her to ride a bike, to swim and had explained patiently the world to her. How often had they walked hand in hand with her looking up to him with her big, innocent, trusting eyes, making him ten feet taller, when Catherine had long stopped looking at him in a remotely similar way, frustrated that he was married to his career and was more or less only around for Juliet. From the first moment she had gripped his finger – surprisingly strong for such a small thing and barely one hour old - she had been his little princess and he had been her hero, whom she had told all her little girl secrets and worries, knowing her daddy would fix them. How could Bridget ask him to stop being her daddy and act like a father? He was even surprised she cared at all, when she was truly only an outsider. She didn't understand their history. She didn't know that any meddling on "Siobhan's" part would make things worse, though he was really touched by her commitment, which endeared her to him even further. _

_But the feeling of her being far too knowledgeable concerning drugs, nagged at the back of his mind. He knew there was no cousin lurking in the familial background of the Kellys. What did he really know about Bridget's life between Sean's death and her coming to live with them? Maybe all his assumptions extrapolated from the little knowledge he had of her were wrong? He gave a phone call to his friend from Homeland Security, who was just on his way to go on a mission, but promised him to look into one Bridget Kelly, when he would have returned in a few days time. _

_When Andrew stepped out of the elevator he smelled immediately faint traces of his cologne. And faint music or what passed as music these days among teenagers of the western hemisphere, reached his ears. As he called out for Siobhan or Juliet, no one answered, so he walked puzzled to his bedroom to change first, noticing the smell becoming distinctly stronger. And when he opened the door, the stench almost knocked him over. Bracing himself, he stepped into the room and stopped in front of his wardrobe. Where there once had been their clothes, empty racks welcomed him. The small bench was gone, too. What happened here? The AC was on full blast to fan fresh air into the room._

_Following his hunch, he turned on his heel and closed the bedroom door firmly behind him and went to Juliet's room. He knocked, but got no answer, so he barged right in to find his daughter lying on her bed with a large, satisfied smile on her face. He knew immediately, whatever happened, his daughter was responsible for it. He looked at her. She just looked back with a hint of challenge in her eyes until it became a staring contest. How could he reach her? What could he say to make her open up and tell him what was wrong? And how was he supposed to keep his temper under control? He felt his jaws clench. This time he would not be provoked into a shouting match with Juliet. And so he just sat down next to her on her bed, took her hand into his and asked what happened, waiting for Juliet to come clean. But as Bridget had predicted, he got nothing but defiant silence. Eventually he started to talk. He talked about his worries and fears for Juliet, how he missed their closeness. He talked how he disliked her acting out and how much it meant to him to have her and Siobhan in his life despite all. He talked about how hard and competitive the business was, and how much he wished for some peace and quiet at least in his family life. And finally he told her about Siobhan being pregnant and how much they both were looking forward to it, how happy he'd be and how important it was to him, if Juliet tried to be a bit more agreeable, because Siobhan tried to be as well, so maybe they could make it work? A fresh start for them as a family? And slowly Juliet responded to him. Apparently she had missed her daddy, too, and in the end they had called a truce with Juliet snuggled into his side. _

_And Andrew was at peace. He didn't even mention his plans for her, as he originally had intended. He just enjoyed these few moments with his daughter. _

_After a long while they heard heavy footsteps and Bridget's high heels on the hardwood floor. She must have seen his briefcase on his desk, because moments later she called out for him. So he answered and went out to greet her in the living-room, passing the driver on his way to the elevator. Surprised he saw her rummaging through an opened gym bag next to his small business travel suitcase and a larger one containing an assortment of clothes they hadn't worn in quite some time. Taking charge she informed him that their clothes had to be taken to the drycleaners and the laundry service because they had absorbed the smell of his cologne and the bench had been picked up by the upholsterer. Some things were ruined beyond salvation, but hopefully her weddding dress was not among them. Andrew frowned heavily at that. This was not just acting out, this was a personal assault on his marriage. Glossing over it, Bridget told him she had gone to the Hamptons to pick up some of their spare clothes, but it wasn't much. And since it would be impossible to sleep in their bedroom, they'd have massive headaches come morning and with the baby coming, she had thought of staying at a hotel for the night. Besides she felt it important to leave Juliet alone for the night as a sign of trust and forgiveness. Being caught off-guard he joked about feeling weird to spend the night in a hotel in their hometown with his own wife. But would it feel less weird, if he didn't spend the night in a hotel with his wife, but say a stranger? A stranger as in some sort of role-playing? Intrigued had cocked up his eyebrow. What kind of role-playing had she in mind? Housewife and postman? Priest and nun? Hooker and client? Though he felt somewhat exited by the idea, he felt also wary. He had tried it once with Siobhan, but she had tensed up and in the end they both had been too self-concious and it had ended in a big mortifying disaster. Besides, did he really want to take it to the next level with Bridget so soon and in such a way? Wouldnt' it change things for them? Would it ruin what they had gained so far? Or was this the sign from her he had been waiting for? How did she feel about him anyway?_

_He was jostled out of his musings, when Bridget made a big show of taking out her mobile phone and pretended to call a number, waited a couple of seconds and then he smiled, catching on. By pretending to call her best friend to tell her about the date she had with a man she had met not an hour ago, she set the scenario. Apparently they were both participants of different conventions held at the same hotel, he had stepped out of the elevator, she had wanted to get in. Both hadn't paid attention and literally bumped into each other. And now they had a date. _

_A first date. _

_That was nothing like he had imagined for a bit of role-playing. He had half of a mind to call it off, when something occurred to him. Though his last first date was close to six years ago and he was seriously out of practice, this evening was a golden opportunity for them. Under the cover of pretending to be somebody else, they could get to know each other like the two strangers they really were. They could ask each other all the questions that burned in their minds, but couldn't ask as a "married couple" because they were supposed to have already the answers. _

_And when she had finished the imaginary phone call and looked questioning at him, he nodded his consent and stepped over to the sideboard where he left his briefcase. He hesitated for a moment, but eventually pulled off his wedding ring, remembering when he done so the last time. _

_It had been one of their worst fights ever shortly after he had found out she cheated on him and eventually Siobhan had stormed out. Suffocating in an apartment where everything reminded him of her he had sought refuge in the streets of New York City. After walking aimlessly around for a while to calm down, he had ended up in a little, crowded bar. Drowning his sorrow in whisky he had eventually noticed a Latino woman with short dark hair and milk coffee coloured skin scowling into her Gin Tonic. She must have felt his gaze and their eyes met. She had been nothing like Siobhan and that had been the attraction for him. An hour later she had pulled off her wedding ring and he had pulled off his and proceeded to pound her into the mattress in a nondescript room of a middle-class business hotel near by. There had been no tenderness, but rather a need to exorcise their frustrations. She had left scratches on his back, he must have left at least two sets of fingerprints on her body. And when she had tightened around him for the last time that night, he had felt vindicated and utterly exhausted. She hadn't known his name, he hadn't known hers. They had been passing ships in the night. _

_The next morning he had woken up hung over and buried under a mountain of guilt, feeling like the greatest idiot ever, convinced he had been set up by Siobhan. And for days afterwards he had waited for her to slap incriminating pictures onto the table and start making demands. But for once Siobhan hadn't been at the top of her game. And he had vowed to himself to never cheat on his wife again. It was just not worth it, because for all hell Siobhan put him through... he loved to be married to her. He loved to belong to someone and have someone belong to him. He loved the closeness, the trust and the honesty between two people in love. _

_He couldn't do it. It felt all wrong suddenly._ _He was a widower of only a few weeks. And he had loved his wife, very much so, at least once. And deep down he still mourned her in a way._ _But then Siobhan's ring was laid next to his, partly covering it, and to him they looked somehow connected. And he looked up into Bridget's concerned face. Her eyes told him that they didn't have to do this. It was just an idea to make the best out of a bad situation with no strings attached. In fact it gave them the perfect alibi for asking questions about each other, they couldn't ask as a "married couple" because they were supposed to know already the answers._

_So he gave her a soft smile and told her he'd pick her up from the hotel lobby in two hours calling her Bonnie to her face for the first time, which came as a surprise to her but to her credit she adapted quickly and called him Andy in return. _

_So, what to do and where to go? Putting out all stops? Eventually he decided to keep it simple. He wanted her to concentrate on him, not on a stretch-limo and expensive food in an upscale restaurant, where the chances a business partner or a distant acquaintance interrupted their date were high. And so he led her to a small, out of the place, cosy Italian restaurant, where Mamma lovingly terrorised the guests and Pappa was in the kitchen working miracles on simple food with lit candles on the chequered tablecloth and common breadsticks serving as anti-pasta. And it paid off. Bridget had given him her sweet smile and from then on time flew. In the soft candlelight she looked so goddamned beautiful, soft and approachable. She listened attentively to his tales, laughed at his small jokes and gave him the feeling of being the most interesting man in the world. He even told her stories from his childhood he hadn't told Siobhan because they had been so silly and half forgotten anyway and explained patiently to her what exactly he was doing in "finances". And in return she made him laugh and regaled him with her own life story. They talked about books, music and movies. And when he finally paid for their meals at two in the morning, he felt like floating on a pink, fluffy heart-shaped cloud with his feet dangling merrily and him watching the wonderful world below him through rose-coloured glasses. _

_He accompanied her to her room, hoping for the natural conclusion of a successful first date. Bridget smiled at him sweetly, thanked him for a most enjoyable evening... and closed the door into his face, without even the tiniest and chastest kiss on his cheek. Disappointed his face fell a bit. But as they were married he expected the door to open immediately again. But it remained closed. Frowning he knocked quietly and stage-whispered "Siobh" to signal her he considered their role-playing over and they were again Andrew and Siobhan, a married couple for almost five years. But even louder knocking and a forceful "Siobhan!" didn't open the door for him. Noticing the curious glances a couple passing by shot him he realised he made a spectacle out of him. _

_Feeling a bit deflated, he returned to his lonely room and his too big and too lonely bed. He hated sleeping alone and apart from his wife. It made him feel cut off from her. Hadn't she liked their date? Had he been too soft or too forceful? Had he paid too little or too much attention to her? Hadn't she liked the food or the restaurant? He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Was she still hung up on **Malcolm**? Or was he simply not her type? Who said that identical twins had to fall for the same man? Just because he found her beguiling didn't mean she was equally fascinated by him. Maybe he had been put into "I had fun tonight, but let's stay friends" category? Critically he looked at himself and found his muscle-tone wanting. When Siobhan had lost her interest in him, he had let himself go a bit. Not that he had become flabby, he couldn't afford that without damaging his image and therefore his business, but more defined muscles and regular visits to the gym wouldn't hurt his case, he concluded, especially in comparison to** Malcolm**, who looked rather fit and athletic as far as he could tell from the college homepage's photo. And Andrew hated nothing more than coming in second best. So maybe she wasn't in love with him yet, but since when did he give up so easily? So she was a bit harder to get than others, but she had definitely evoked his hunting fever and he loved nothing so well as a good chase and a challenge. He would make her fall in love with him, rather sooner than later. He wanted Bonnie. He was sure. Her smile, her sparkling eyes, her laugh, her golden hair, her sexy body, her sense of humour, her compassion, her sarcastic tongue, her intelligence and her street-wise knowledge that shone through, her strength, her perseverance, all about her completely enchanted him. He knew he was falling helplessly and hopelessly in love. And it felt great. He didn't want to know more about her and have her checked out. For once he wanted to discover all about her together with her in their own time and speed. She would trust him and tell him all about herself on her own terms. He would wait forever, if necessary. First thing later that day he would call off the investigation of her background. He wouldn't listen anymore. He wanted to trust her. All else was just minor details. He felt giddy and the bed was still too cold. He would never be able to fall asleep. So he got up again and seconds later he waited for her to pick up her phone, which she eventually did. And then he was tongue-tied. It was too soon to tell her without having at least an idea how his chances stood with her. So he only told her how much he had enjoyed their little role-playing and how much closer to her he felt at that moment, hoping she would tell him the same. She replied that she had enjoyed spending time with him and getting to know him – all over. He laid down and let her voice warm the bed sheets for him. Dear God, he felt like a school-boy with the hugest crush imaginable. _

_When he came home knackered after a very unproductive day in the office that evening, he was glad that Bridget suggested take-out as dinner to make it as simple as possible. Besides, it was not the food he was looking forward to but the company and their fresh start of trying to have a functional family life. But the atmosphere proved to be stifling and too quiet. Neither Bridget nor Juliet was in a remotely talkative mood. Maybe he had too high expectations of coming home and everybody told everyone about their day and had a lively discussion over dinner like a Hollywood dream of a loving family life? Realising he had to do his part as well he gave it a push and reluctantly Juliet picked up the ball, but only to use it to set Bridget up, he realised with mounting horror. Like a train wreck he could only stand by and watch it happen. Why had Bridget gone against his wishes and used the subway? Why had Juliet followed her? Was he the only one in this family committed enough to at least try to make it work? He was so disappointed in them. He had thought Bridget had understood that Mrs Andrew Martin didn't use public transport, but on the other hand it would not do for the employees to know that Mrs Martin went to NA meetings for whatever well-meaning reasons. Their "knowledge" usually ended up splashed all over the gossip rags and blown out of proportion and context. He should rather commend her for her careful consideration of their reputation, he realised. Eventually he simply asked her again to just leave it and trust him. Besides, he needed to put the blame for this fiasco where it belonged. Juliet had no right to snoop after Bridget. And who had been the little voice in her ear to convince her that she would be sent to a rehab program just because Bridget had wanted to do some research on drug abuse – allegedly, the annoying voice in the back of his mind trumped up. And again he shushed it determined._

_Gemma's coming by was the icing on the cake. She had been Catherine's bride's maid and she had been good enough of a friend to stay friends with him after his divorce and remarriage - much to Catherine's angry chagrin. She had even bonded with Siobhan over fashion and interior decoration. He felt somewhat ashamed, now that she presumably knew. He felt he should console her, be the friend for her as she had been for him, but it felt too awkward. How could you tell your friend that you knew about the affair, but never deigned to let her know for mostly selfish reasons, when said friend had the perhaps slightly dubious decency to want to let you know? But then Bridget stepped in and maybe this was foremost a wife/mistress sort of thing to hash out between them? Or was there something else going on underneath it all, something Bridget apparently knew but not him? Gemma was far too quiet, which was rather disconcerting, knowing her fierce temper and tendency to let her opponent have it with two barrels no matter the consequences or any regard for diplomacy. Maybe this wasn't about the affair at all? Was there a chance that Gemma still didn't know? Then what...? It turned out was just about the loft. Gemma was one gifted architect and it WAS rather disappointing that she wanted to step away from this job, because she would doubtless transform this large, empty space into something magnificent. Still busy to figure out if it wasn't really a good thing for Bridget's cover, if the two couples separated for a while, he missed his clues. Of course they'd understand and of course they wouldn't hate her. Convinced the disaster was averted he excused himself to do some damage-control on the next construction site so to speak. The hoping it was just a phase–method hadn't worked, the daddy-approach had failed, it was about time to act like a father. And so he made a lunch appointment with his daughter for the next day to discuss her future. _

_Later in bed he turned towards Bridget and tried to discuss, if it wasn't for the best, they would sell the loft. Although with the baby coming they needed more space. Had Gemma said anything more to her? But Bridget had been unresponsive and preoccupied on both topics. So he contented himself with reaching for her hand in the darkness and giving it a squeeze trying to show his support in whatever had Bridget so rattled and hoping she would open up to him. But she kept silent, her cool hand in his limp like a dead fish. Sighing he rolled back. It was so Bridget. With her it was always two steps forward and one step back he began to realise. Or maybe they were both so independent and so used to handle their problems on their own that it simply didn't occur to them to share their burdens with each other? At least he knew he needed to relearn to trust and to rely on somebody else. And if that was Bridget's problem, too, then maybe they could relearn together? Maybe she would follow his lead as she seemed content to do, if he was more open about his worries and showed her he trusted her to be there for him and that her help was appreciated? _

_Juliet reacted predictably, when Andrew informed her she was to start at a public school the next day – she blew up. What he hadn't anticipated and convinced him further he was doing the right thing was her flippant statement that he should buy her way into private school. Did they teach children at private schools that money and mind-altering drugs were the universal problem solvers? She was at the age where she shouldn't ask what things cost, but why she was able to afford them and others were not and if there was any fairness in that, calling him a bloodsucker and soulless robber baron and arguing with him over dinner about environmental problems and women's education in Third World countries and questioning the Great Order of Things and her place in it. She needed a fresh perspective and other influences than her friends in her life and this was her chance, if only she understood it as such. He just couldn't get what had gone so wrong. And then he got his answer – the old problem "Siobhan" but this time with a new twist. When had she learnt that her father had broken his vows to her mother? _

_The phone call to Catherine, currently with her husband in Australia accompanying him on his scouting travels for suitable concert halls and dates of the Beach Boys™ World Tour 2011/12, had gone exactly as anticipated. Six years later and they still managed barely to hold a civil conversation. Catherine was a Farnsworth and Farnsworths had temporary separations and affairs on the side, but they did NOT divorce, which had resulted in a rather ugly divorce with Juliet as bargaining chip by the Farnsworth attorneys. Presenting him with the choice to either step away from claiming full custody for Juliet or pay every cent back the Farnsworth family had ever invested in his company, they had gambled on him not being able to do either and come back to heel as a consequence. Money was insignificant in comparison to his child, but it had also been impossible for him to walk away from Siobhan. She had been everything Catherine had not. Catherine came from old East Coast money. Born at the top of the food chain she had never really understood his hunger for "more" and his ambition to advance. Siobhan had understood his greed for power and money. He wanted to be the ultimate mover and shaker of the financial world, the one the President, the Queen and the Saudi Princes called, if they were a bit in a bind and needed advice… or money, they didn't want anyone to know about. Less would have been unacceptable, then. He had felt the kindred spirit in her as if he had been meant for her. And in that desperate situation Olivia had come to his rescue. It was a pity that only few people took the time to look beyond the tough business woman image she presented to the world. And it was even sadder that she let even fewer people see her vulnerability and loneliness. He would never forget the day she closed the door behind her and leant against his desk and asked the all-deciding question of how much money he needed to get out of his unhappy marriage. In the end Juliet and his freedom had cost him nearly everything he owned, nearly everything Olivia owned and a considerable loan from the banks to pay off the Farnsworths and get full custody. But he had never regretted it once, even if he had paid back the last instalment only last year to Olivia who had shown incredible patience towards him paying back what he owed her, acknowledging that **Andrew Martin™** had to look the part of a successful businessman with a Park Avenue flat, a house in the Hamptons, a racing boat and part ownership of a successful racing horse. They had even briefly considered buying a house in Aspen, but Siobhan had hated the cold. She was a creature of warmth, sunshine and the sea and so they dropped the idea. _

_Catherine, shocked beyond imagination, had never really been able to forgive him. They had pushed their luck and she had lost everything – her husband and her daughter. Even if she never had been really close to her because Juliet had always been closer to her father. Catherine had become to be known as the first Farnsworth in known family history to have ever divorced. Ashamed and embittered she had fled to Miami, where she had remarried quickly enough to loose the stigma, but it had never really vanished. Generally the Farnsworths preferred to walk the other side of the road when they happened to meet with Andrew Martin. _

_But this time Catherine had crossed the line in her petty games of revenge. She had told Juliet the truth, or at least the truth as she saw it, conveniently forgetting that their marriage had been dead and buried long before they had made that fateful trip to Vegas and that she was equally to blame for that failure. _

_And when he looked for Juliet to explain what really happened before and after he had met Siobhan, he realised she had snug out again – the night before her first day of school. Running out of options, he had waited for Bridget to come home, worrying himself sick over both of them. Where were they? What else could he do to find his princess but phoning around? Finally, close to midnight he heard Bridget's steps. Reminding himself of being more open, he told her about Catherine and Juliet and confessed his desperate worries and asked for her help. And Bridget came through for him. _

_The bouncer recognised Juliet from her photo on his mobile phone and confirmed she was inside. Putting the question aside how a fifteen year old girl managed to get into a club, he texted Bridget and fidgeted until she arrived. He needed her here or he was liable to do things he would regret later. It didn't take long to find her – and with her was her friend Erica. Well, that friendship was over, as far as Andrew was concerned. This girl had a really bad influence on his daughter and she had lied to him, when he had called her earlier this evening asking if Juliet was with her. Feeling the rage building in him, he felt Bridget's touch on his sleeve. It was the first time that she deliberately touched him. And relishing it put him in an enough mellow mood not to immediately start yelling at Juliet and dragging her home either by the arm or the hair – he wasn't picky in his current mood. _

_Confronting Juliet had been difficult and it forced him to reveal details of his marriage to his daughter, he felt she didn't need to know yet or preferably not at all. And it irked him that Juliet parroted Catherine's torrent of hatred and attacked Siobhan again. As if Siobhan was the root of all problems. Yes, maybe Catherine and he could have worked things out, but he hadn't wanted to. And he had wanted even less after he had met his lady in red. He didn't agree to Bridget's taking the blame once more and apologising, because she neither was to blame nor was she responsible. But apparently this was what Juliet had been waiting for and what she had needed. She fought for a moment with herself but then it felt like the sun peaked out from behind storm clouds. And the fury receded and in its wake it left a lonely, insecure, little girl who only wanted to go home. And it melted all his tightly controlled anger away. If she had been smaller and younger, he would have picked her up and cradled her against his chest to protect her from all things evil, his little girl. And he could have burst from love for her and Bridget, but eventually he just took her into his arms, trying to give her the shelter and the security she so needed and wanted and mouthed a heartfelt 'thank you' to Bridget. _

_But his happy bubble burst when Gemma called. He heard her crying and knew she needed him tonight. So he trusted that Bridget had things under control at home and made the detour to the Butler's home – only to find Henry in an odd state of mind. But Juliet took precedence in his mind and he made do with going home. Gemma's problems could wait until the morning._

* * *

AN: The perfume story is a true story of my life. I played once as a little girl with my mother's perfume bottle, pretending to be a lady getting ready for the theatre I think, and sprayed the scent VERY GENEROUSLY over all and everything. Her entire bedroom just stank! As my mother was a firm believer of punishments fitting the crime, she made me sleep in her bedroom in the stink and she spent the night in my room. I remember I had trouble falling asleep that night and the next day I had a headache.

Anyway, I appreciate any all reviews you might want to send me.


	6. Chapter 6

Episode SIX_ – _Cries for Help

He knows it's fruitless, but he can't help thinking, what if he had insisted on entering the Butler's home, what if he had checked, if Gemma had been still in the office? What if he had taken things more seriously... would things have turned out differently? Or wouldn't it have made any difference at all, because Bridget had unwittingly signed her death sentence the moment she had told Gemma who she really was? No matter how hard he tries, Gemma was a very good friend after all and she truly didn't deserve to die, but he can't make himself regret her death too much or feel too guilty, if it means that his family stays safe just one day more. After all, Gemma knew too much... she had been colleratal damage.

* * *

_He didn't realise how late it had become, when he finally got home. He felt tired and there was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind, that he SHOULD have taken his time to go to her office and see, if Gemma was there after all, but Juliet was waiting for him and the aspirin. He was anxious to take care of her. But he needn't have to. Bridget closed the door behind her and put a finger against her mouth, indicating that Juliet had fallen asleep. Temporarily placated, the Butler's weird behaviour took priority again and he asked Bridget to give Gemma a call in the morning to see, if they could help in any way or at least to learn what was so urgent or secretive that **she** called **him** in the middle of the night – and not Siobhan. After a brief check on Juliet, who was tucked in and deeply asleep, he fell exhausted into bed; the emotional fallout of Catherine's little revenge had taken finally a toll on him._

_The next day started equally taxing as the night before had ended. What did Juliet think public high-school was – a party? Her skirt was way, WAY too short for even a party. Her entirely inappropriate outfit just screamed Andrew Martin's daughter was easy and issued invitations to over-hormonal teenage boys left, right and centre. He would not have his daughter gain the reputation of the school's slut. At last resort he turned to Bridget for help. Maybe she could reason with their daughter. And indeed she found the words that got through to Juliet and she conceded defeat. He was so happy that he gave her an impromptu kiss on her head and called the driver. He really, really didn't want his beautiful daughter on display for lewd fantasies. And he hoped her new school would make her happier than her old ones and she would calm down and turn again into his sweet girl._

_So he gave her hand a last squeeze and an encouraging smile and watched her getting out of the car. Starting at a new school was always frightening, but he would not have done her any favours, if he had accompanied her to administration. She was old enough to make it on her own and he didn't want to come over as too clingy and overbearing. _

_He was right in the middle of a very controversial meeting to set targets for 2012 with Olivia and the heads of M/Cs various branches, when Claudine interrupted. His immediate presence was requested at Juliet's new school. A glance at his watch told him, it was only three hours before he was called to the school. A new best mark for Juliet. For a moment he considered having Bridget go over and sort things out, but then he hesitated. In all probability an emotionally charged scene awaited him, so it would be the wrong signal to Juliet to send "Siobhan" over to deal with the mess. He didn't want to reinforce her perceived image as the evil stepmother. And it wasn't fair to Bridget either to let her deal with the messes in his life. She was not his maid to pick up after him and he didn't want to give her the impression that he dumped all the nasty stuff on her so that he could concentrate fully on his job without a care for his family's problems. He had vowed to treat Bridget better than Catherine. She deserved more consideration and not only because she was pregnant. _

_On his way over he mused what it was this time: Repeated interruption of the class, disrespecting a teacher, not doing her home-work, skipping school, fighting with her peers, disregarding curfew, drinking, having sex on the school's premises or abusing drugs again...? He was so sick and tired of her behaviour. Only three hours... He loved Juliet to pieces, but right now if he could he would put her onto the next flight to Sydney - without a return ticket. Let Catherine have her. _

_He entered the principal's office with a heavy set in his shoulders. He'd been far too often in their offices in the past years discussing Juliet's misbehaviour, smoothing things over, explaining her difficult home life and pleading for understanding and certain lenience towards her. Had it been a mistake to try to protect Juliet from the consequences of her deeds? Besides he had the rather sad suspicion that Juliet tried to get out of public school in order to get back with her friends on Wessex Prep by breaking rules that would result in her getting kicked out of her fourth school in three years. Well, no more! Immediately Juliet tried to claim innocence. And he would be all too happy to believe her, but her track record argued against her. She needed to learn that she had to obey the rules and that the principal was God in her school. He would not undermine her authority by challenging her request for Juliet to step out. She would not be able to play them off against each other like in the past. Sitting down in the vacated chair he waited to hear what had happened and what punishment for Juliet the principal had in mind. They agreed that Juliet would do some cleaning work on the premises and ended up discussing her previous behaviour and what they could do to keep Juliet in line, help her overcome her antagonistic mindset and how they could support her in finding her place in this school coming from a vastly different background than the majority of the pupils. _

_When they left the office, a teacher stepped up and explained what really happened. Juliet had NOT started the fight. His girl had told the truth. She had understood that this school was her chance for a fresh start and she wanted to take it. Being very proud of her at this moment, he tried to convey to her that if she adhered to the rules, then she would have his unconditional backup by demanding an apology from the principal. When they said goodbye, he had taken her into his arms and had given her another kiss on her head, asking if she would be okay for the rest of the day and how she would like it, if they did something together on the weekend, like riding on the beach if the weather would kept up, which they hadn't done for ages. Siobhan had been allergic to horses so that had been their special time together without her. Smiling happily Juliet had nodded and left him to enter the school building again, while he had tried to shift gears into business mode again. His meeting hadn't been concluded, only interrupted and he wanted to have the strategic planning done by the end of the week. _

_And if this day hadn't been trying enough, late afternoon Henry called to tell him that the police had picked him up for questioning on the disappearance of his wife. Henry seemed to be very confused up to the point of being nearly incoherent. There had been an anonymous phone call from a woman to report Gemma gone missing. There had been found some bloody rags and broken pieces of something made from ceramic and now the police connected these two facts and came up with the insane idea that something might have happened to Gemma since last night. Andrew had expressed his heartfelt worries over Gemma and promised Henry to call him, if he or "Siobhan" learnt anything. _

_He should have prepared for his telephone conference with Tokyo. Since the earthquake and subsequent tsunami and damage to the nuclear power station in Fukushima Japan held it admirably together, but voices grew louder to step away from nuclear power and turn to alternative energy resources. Andrew wanted to be kept regularly updated to learn what Tokyo and the stock exchange were thinking in the aftermath and in the light of these ideas. But he found he couldn't concentrate on business. He sat on the sofa, watching the sun going down and thought about what he was supposed to do about Gemma. Had she really gone missing or was the police clutching at straws? From what Henry told him there was no evidence to connect a couple of rags with Gemma. For all they knew she could have checked into a hotel in Jersey to get away from it all for a couple of days like Bridget thought and he was inclined to follow her suggestion, if only to dim his instincts that something might have happened to Gemma on top of everything and that Bridget had a finger in the pie. _

_Andrew knew he had...issues...with trust and control. The family therapist they had unsuccessfully consulted had made a real case out of it. He grimaced. The good lady knew a lot about dysfunctional families, but nothing about running a multi-national company. Being the big boss he could rely on one fact: Subordinates lied. It was in the nature of their relationship. They lied for various reasons and not all of them were ill-intended. They lied because they wanted to spare him unpleasant news, they lied because it was just small things and not worth mentioning them to him, they lied to save face, they lied because they wanted to clean up their messes by themselves, they lied to avoid his wrath, they lied because they didn't want to disappoint him, they lied to keep their jobs and they lied to make themselves look better than they were: they lied because they felt it served their own interests better than telling the truth. So it was of vital importance for him to know what was really going on in his company, and a certain caution towards what he was told came with the position he held. He had already been made aware of these facts at the tender age of 14, when he was the captain of his local football team and he had gleaned a deeper understanding with the passing years and growing responsibility. _

_So he had sat in his office and struggled with himself. Should he take out the small device of truth or should he trust Bridget to tell him what was going on? Hadn't he euphorically vowed to himself to stop controlling her and start trusting her? But how could he protect her, when he didn't know what was going on and if he couldn't be certain she told him the (whole) truth? Eventually he just went home to escape the temptation. But Bridget hadn't been in. _

_So he had confined himself to waiting. By the time she finally came home, he was coiled up. Resisting the urge to jump up he folded his hands in his lap and tried to contain himself. He would trust Bridget. He would trust her that she hadn't done something to jeopardise her sanctuary and shelter. He would trust her to care enough about him and Juliet to not have done something stupid like inviting the police to snoop in their lives, when she had done everything to keep the FBI at arm's length. He wanted to believe this was all some misunderstanding and that Gemma was fine. But with every word he spoke, it got harder to remain detached from her. Her sadness overwhelmed him to the point that he HAD to take her into his arms and try to comfort her. And when she let him touch her and relaxed in his arms for the first time, he knew he had to get away before **he** did something stupid. _

_When he returned from his phone call to Olivia, he had composed himself to the extent that he felt he could take Bridget into his arms without succumbing to the temptation to assault her. Carrying two mugs of tea, he watched her taking a look at Siobhan's overlarge portrait. But as soon as she saw him, she gave him a tentative smile and the look of sad and worried determination vanished as if it had been a figment of his imagination. Taking her by her hand he led her back to the living-room and sat down in one corner of the sofa, while encouraging her to sit down and lay back against him. It pleased him that she relaxed fairly quickly and they discussed Juliet's latest escapade and what they should do – take the proactive approach and tell the police about Gemma's odd late night phone call to Andrew or wait passively for the police to come to them, which they agreed on after weighing the pros and cons. _

_And eventually they just sat on this sofa for the longest time while sipping their cooling tea and enjoyed the closeness and each other's body heat that they both eventually started to nod off. These had been trying days for them and Andrew was especially concerned about Bridget and the baby. She needed rest and some peace. Realising that they both were too old to fall asleep on the couch that had been designed for the sole purpose of sitting on it, they got up and went to bed, and this time Bridget made him very happy by returning his hand's squeeze in the darkness. He felt he was making progress with her. _


	7. Chapter 7

**_Episode SEVEN - Caesar's Heirs_**

AN: To do this episode real justice, as I see it as a real marking stone and defining and shaping their relationship and their future, at least in my story, I realised eventually that I would need to split it into two sub-episodes to cover all important aspectsg.

And I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all my loyal reviewers and the ones that put my story or even me up on their favourite ones –lists. I cherish each and every review and new member of my avid readers community, even if I don't always let you know.

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"Roxane, you don't have to put on the red light..." Hastily Andrew pushes the button to skip to the next track. Although he's a big fan of "The Police" and loves to hum and sing along with Sting while doing relaxing no-brain work in his office that nevertheless needs to be done even by a CEO this song hits entirely too close to home now.

* * *

_The next two days were awkward to say in the least. Several times Andrew made overtures to encourage Bridget open up to him by trying to build on the progress from that night. He asked, if there was something bothering her, if he could help her as he could see her worry, if she wanted to talk, if she wanted to tell him something about Gemma, but she kept her worries to herself. And all the time he fought against the urge to take the easy way out and just sit down to listen to her phone calls to see, if and what he could learn from them. But she didn't open up and he resisted temptation; they were at a stalemate and both held their breath waiting for the other shoe to drop in nervous anticipation and with gradually mounting tension between them. _

_And finally the tension snapped: Bridget wanted to talk. And he had been so hopeful that she would trust him and tell him who she really was and what she knew about Gemma's disappearance. Then he would tell her that he already knew and that it didn't make any difference to him. Andrew's feelings for her wouldn't change with the fact that she had a bit of a drug addiction. Who was he to judge? He and Catherine had had a line or two once or twice for the kick in their wilder days before they had Juliet, too, just to learn if sex was truly better if you were high. But he had realised quickly enough by watching their friends and by simply knowing where that road led to. And he had had big plans for his life an addiction of any kind would interfere with. Besides if he chose his business partners based on their level of sobriety, then he'd be out of business. He would love to help her. He wanted to be there for her, protect her... but she didn't let him_. _Instead of coming clean Bridget kept piling the lies._ _That hurt. That hurt so much that... he almost didn't get what she was trying to explain with mounting desperation due to his mounting incredulity._

_Had he thought he was making progress with her? The hell he was doing! At least he could agree with her on one thing: There was just no understanding of that kind of behaviour. Feeling as if he were trying to catch smoke, he latched onto the only thing he could get a grip on. He called her on the carpet for keeping secrets in their marriage. Was there anything else to do? Could he react any different than acting as ignorant Andrew? Siobhan had never told him about Bridget, so should he just sit back and listen and then lean back and tell her that everything was "cool"? That it wasn't a big deal to renege her own sister? Looking back he realised only then how much it had bothered him all these years that Siobhan had kept her a secret. It made him wonder what else Siobhan had kept quiet about, hadn't thought it worth mentioning to him. Had he really ever known her at all? And why hadn't he ever brought her up? Why had he been content to let Bridget be forgotten? Because he had thought Siobhan had been entitled to her secrets or had their silence about her really just been most convenient for all of them? Didn't that make him as bad as her? And now? Why didn't he come clean and told Bridget he knew who she really was? Surprisingly the answer came quickly and easily to him: He felt it was too late to be believable anymore. He had wasted time by playing his stupid games. If he would tell her now he knew about her, then he would need to explain why he hadn't spoken up before. And that would mean admitting that he knew Siobhan was dead, which would mean admitting he listened to her phone calls, which would mean eventually admitting he had planned her murder. And he didn't trust her enough with THAT information yet, if ever. And without complete trust, there could be no lasting love. Did he really love Bridget? An hour ago he would have confirmed it with everything he had. Now, he wasn't so sure anymore. How could you love a person that didn't exist? Siobhan had been real, Bridget was real. "Siobhan" was an artificial product born out of Bridget's survival instinct. And Bonnie was just his fantasy woman. Had he simply deluded himself into thinking he loved Bridget just because he was physically attracted to her and she was nicer and more agreeable than Siobhan, yet possessed that indefinable more, that certain aura of being a wild beast that could strike at you any time it felt threatened, which made it so enticing to interact with her? Besides, they knew each other what five, six weeks? Trust and love took their time to grow. _

_Eventually Bridget wanted him to respond to her, but there was nothing to say. Barely hanging onto his control with jaws so tightly clenched that his teeth ached, he left wordlessly his home to go to his office. He needed time and space to think things through and find a way to get Bridget out of this tight spot while covering his own back. What had he missed these past days by not listening in? What had Bridget done to Gemma that made the police think she had something to do with her disappearance? It was evident he wouldn't get any straight answers from Bridget. She didn't trust him enough either. _

_And in the comforting stillness of his office he learnt what happened. Gemma knew she was Bridget. Juliet had had a veritable stash of drugs, which she had surrendered to Bridget, who in turn went to NA meetings not to (just) help Juliet but to help herself and Juliet had conveniently provided the perfect alibi for her. Why had she felt she couldn't keep up the charade anymore and how come that he hadn't notice that Bridget was on edge and close to breaking point? Had he been so focussed on his company and Juliet that he had overlooked Bridget's emotional state that he unwittingly committed the same mistakes he had vowed not to repeat? Had he inadvertently added to her stress? And why did she need to look for a new sponsor? Which by the way was wonderful news – Saint Malcolm had deserted her in her hour of need. He was out of the picture and out of the run for Bridget's affections. Then Henry had hidden the evidence of foul play for some reason and he learnt about Henry's and "Siobhan's" mutual distrust. What would make either of them think that the other one was the culprit in Gemma's disappearance? Had there been pillow talk about disposing their spouses? If yes, he had seriously underestimated Siobhan. He would never have pegged her for a killer. To ruin a man, yes, to exact some measure of revenge, yes, but to kill, no. It made him doubly glad that he had taken steps first... and that suicide of hers... made even less sense._

_And the icing on the cake was that Bridget teased the hiding place of the evidence out of Henry only to go promptly there to leave traces of herself as Bridget. It was all about protecting her new life as Siobhan, so she thought. _

_On one hand he still felt it had been a fundamental mistake that would haunt them for the longest time to come, but it also indicated her willingness to remain Siobhan for the rest of her life. She was committed to them. And that meant... exactly what? What worth had a promise of commitment from someone like her? _

_And on the other hand what if the police came to them and told him his wife had an affair with a man whose wife had mysteriously disappeared? Where fit that into her plan to protect her new life, if she dragged Bridget back on scene most prominently, which put the Martins into the spotlight of not only one police investigation but two?_

_One way or the other... she had issued gold-engraved invitations to the police and the FBI. This agent Machado was on his way back to New York this very moment. Oh God, if he only had known sooner! He would have talked to Bridget. "Siobhan" had a perfect alibi. When Gemma had called him around midnight, she had been at home tucking Juliet in and later they had been in bed. So sod it, if the cops learnt about Siobhan's infidelity. The moment he asked Josh for the surveillance device he knew his suspicions about his wife's fidelity might end up on file somewhere. It had been a calculated risk and hence the non-negotiable demand that her murder was supposed to look like an accident while he had been abroad. They could have told the police the truth – "Siobhan" had ended the affair the moment she learnt she was pregnant and he had forgiven his wife and they were trying to make it work again. End of story. End of their involvement in Gemma's disappearance. But no, he wanted to play the knight in shining armour and respect her privacy and now they were in the biggest mess imaginable. Before he had thought the police might come to them as the closest friends to Gemma... now he knew it was only a matter of time before they knocked looking for suspects. Siobhan had an affair with Henry and her sister had left her fingerprints on the evidence! Damn Bridget's impulsiveness and lack of thinking things through. _

_He came to the bitter conclusion that he had done everything wrong. He should have called immediately the police upon learning that Siobhan had killed herself and Bridget was an opportunistic impostor. Why had she been running away? She could have started a complete new life with a new identity by taking advantage of the witness protection program. What had she hoped to gain by running away to Siobhan? Had she really believed her sister would be able to protect her better than law enforcement agencies? Did she think Siobhan would and could part the seas for her? Could she really be that naive or that trusting? Nothing had changed. She still made one bad decision after another and dug herself deeper and deeper into a mess of epic proportions. But this time she had not only dragged herself into, she had dragged him along with her, although to be fair he hadn't been exactly an unwilling partner in crime so to speak._

_Frowning Andrew watched Bridget watching the morning news featuring Henry being taken to the police for further questioning. It wasn't hard stop watching. In fact it was the easiest thing to do once you realised that that bloodthirsty mob was not reporting news – they reported themselves trying to gather news. From his own experience last August when the Dow Jones Index crashed by a thousand points and everyone pointed the accusing finger towards HFT, he knew how it felt to be accosted by the press mob. He had left the office to get to his car after a day of crisis management and calming the more volatile of his key clients, when they had assaulted him and tried to get a statement out of him. But how could you give a sensible statement when 30 mouths hurled simultaneously 20 questions at you, so that you couldn't even hear yourself think, let alone understand their questions in that cacophony while evading their microphones shoved into your face? Thankfully security had come quickly enough and his driver had more or less pushed him into the car to protect him. No, as far as Andrew was concerned those ink slingers with a camera in their hands were nothing but vultures and vermin and not worth time or attention and certainly not worth calling themselves journalists. Journalists he knew and respected. Just last year he had sat down with two of them from the Fortune Magazine for a pleasant two hours talk, despite of their hard, intelligent and well-prepared questions. And in the end they had sent him a draft of their interview with him, he and his PR manager had edited it a bit and send it back with complimentary wishes. Two months later it was edited to their mutual satisfaction and published with a flattering photo of him and Olivia. _

_And despite of how much he disliked Henry this treatment he didn't deserve. They had publicly declared him guilty, though Gemma was still only missing and the only suspect was Bridget herself, who had a fool-proof alibi in a sort of way. But what was to be done about the opening night of the Art Pavilion? Henry might not realise yet what he would get into, but Andrew knew. And he was reluctant to get involved. The sensible thing to do would be to distance themselves from Henry. If „Siobhan" was seen with Henry so shortly after his wife's disappearance, a maid or the bellboy or someone else might make the right connection and remember the regularly visiting couple from the Dandridge Hotel when they saw the TV footage or their pictures. On the other hand they owed Gemma to attend. She had worked so hard for it, had fought countless attacks against her, questioning her competence, the quality of her design and accusing her of nepotism because of her father, for whom even the traffic lights would stop, if he raised a hand just to greet an acquaintance passing on the other side of the road as malicious gossip had it. _

_And if it hadn't been bad enough that Bridget had left her fingerprints or whatever all over the evidence, she now wanted to get involved even more by hiring a private investigator! How stupid could you get? Siobhan would never have behaved so irresponsible he thought with a fierce pang of longing. He didn't give a good goddamn about Gemma, if it meant she dragged them down! What the hell was Bridget's problem anyway? Didn't she realise how dangerous it was to attract the attention of the police? Did she want to be caught? She had been spot on with her self-analysis. She didn't think about consequences. And she was trouble. Uncharitably he suddenly developed a new understanding of Siobhan's decision to cut Bridget out of her life. He felt the foreboding small tremors of danger approaching, a certain crackle of energy buzzing around him bearing a sharp smell like ozone. _

_The last time he had felt it this strong had been about a year ago. Siobhan had wished him a good day in the office and there had been just something in her tone of voice... and not two hours later the SEC had stormed the offices of Martin/Charles with a search warrant to claim files and computers. An anonymous tip had set SEC off that implied M/C of inside trading in at least one very specific case. It had unsettled the employees and Andrew and Olivia had been in a cold sweat that the SEC would find evidence of their liberal interpretation of rules to keep the company afloat during the turbulence of the world-wide financial crash. But after a lot of mayhem and going through their national accounts with a fine comb the SEC had given them a clean bill but for some smaller clerical and accounting errors which could be explained easily and satisfyingly – much to their astonishment they had got away! Only the night after the official statement and their apology for the inconvenience, glossing over the image loss of Martin/Charles that had caused this very public search, Siobhan had come forward and presented Andrew copies of the documents the SEC had so desperately searched for in the files that would prove insider trading instead of proving just a healthy amount of good luck and fine-tuned instincts. If he didn't want to hand his wealth over to his lawyers to keep him from being sentenced, he'd be a good boy and keep quiet and appearances up. Otherwise the SEC would find these on their desks and then they would truly tear Martin/Charles apart and leave no stone unturned and all that would remain of his precious empire were some flashy headlines. _

_But before he could persuade Bridget to drop it and leave it to the police, they had visitors – one flat foot who Andrew immediately discounted as the driver and a slender red head he'd do well not to underestimate he assessed quickly. _

_Giving off the appearance of being busy he hoped to convey his importance and his station in this city and as British citizen and to remind them subtly that he would not tolerate any "maltreatment" of his pregnant wife by the police. When he learnt that Detective Saldana wanted not only to interview "Siobhan" but also preferred to do it down at the precinct his alarm bells started ringing and he realised, they had no chance of not complying without causing at least irritation and as a result attracted more attention than was commendable. Nevertheless police and FBI better realised who exactly they were talking to._

_Caught up in texting Claudine to reschedule his first meeting this morning, he paid little attention to Juliet's sudden and unexpected wish to spend the weekend with a friend. But knowing that the Randolphs were very responsible and strict parents, he eventually agreed to let her go for the weekend, if only to have her out from underfoot. She didn't need to be caught up in the Gemma affair as well. He just had sent off his text message, when Bridget returned and the detective upped the ante. Honestly surprised he learnt that he had been indeed the last person to talk to Gemma the night of her disappearance and naturally they wanted to talk to him as well. _

_At the police station they separated them and he watched Bridget being led away. A dark haired man in a suit that just screamed Fed followed her, but then he was picked up as well and led down the same corridor to the interrogation rooms. Andrew didn't even find the words to express how displeased he was with the entire situation and shot Bridget a dark look when their eyes met through the window of her interrogation room. He could only hope she wouldn't unwittingly make things even worse. _

_He didn't know if they were going for the shock value, but they started with showing him a very unflattering mug shot of Bridget. It must have originated from her days of drug addiction. He discarded it as irrelevant. In the short time she had lived with him she had made a remarkable recovery and was as beautiful as Siobhan and looking at least ten years younger compared to this photo and not at all like a woman of her age with years of heroin abuse under her belt. _

_But what **DID** shock him was to learn that Bridget was not only a drug addict but also a stripper and a prostitute. THAT he couldn't stomach. All else, even the stripping to some extent on an intellectual level to finance her addiction, but a whore? To think he might or would share her body with hundreds of men before him... It disgusted him. He concentrated again on Saldana and her questions which revolved around that phone call. He told her what Gemma had told him, what Henry had told him. He told them that Gemma had stepped away from the loft project and that she had seemed overwhelmed and was possibly burnt out, that he had believed up to now that she simply had disappeared for a few days to gain a new perspective on things and that he hadn't taken things too seriously. He had known about Bridget Kelly for only a little while, no, he didn't know much about her. And then they were finished and Andrew left with a very bad taste in his mouth. _

_When this Agent Machado brought back Malcolm Ward into the equation he was fed up for good. All he wanted now was to get away from there hoping it wouldn't leak out that they had been interviewed at the precinct instead of at home, which would have been the courteous and respectful thing to do and most of all would have made them look less involved, less suspect._

_Waiting for Bridget in the car, he realised they had crossed the Rubicon. He could have told Saldana that "Siobhan" was Bridget or at least hinted he thought his wife acted very strangely and out of character. He could have told them about Henry's suspicious behaviour that night. He could have told them he suspected Gemma's call hadn't been about the loft as he tried to make them believe as a diversion, but of her trying to tell him who "Siobhan" really was and that Siobhan had cheated on him, probably._

_But he had done none of the right and sensible things he could have done to help Gemma, but had selfishly done everything to save his own skin, not in the least because he still didn't know how much Bridget Kelly knew about his part in her sister's suicide. _

_Bridget could have told the police who she really was. She could have told them about Henry's involvement, however big or small. She could have told the truth and testify against Macawi and put that man finally behind bars. _

_But watching her step out of the precinct and immediately trying to reach someone on the phone, probably Ward, he realised, she too had done none of the things she could have done to help Gemma and God knew how many innocent future victims of Macawi. She had done everything to save her own skin – as Siobhan Martin._

_The dice was rolled and they hadn't taken their last chance to make things right and from now on there was no turning back for either of them. It was a rather sobering thought and he hoped like hell he would not come to regret it as the biggest mistake of his life._

In the sanctuary of his office the let Claudine know he didn't want to be disturbed for the rest of the morning. Despite his dislike of Ward he was worried. This man wouldn't just stop returning her calls. If he wanted out, he would tell her straight on, that much Andrew knew about Malcolm by now. That man **cared**. And that opened several very unpleasant options as to Malcolm Ward's sudden silence. Had Macawi got the man? If so, how much time had they left before that man or any of his goons turned up in New York looking for them? Did Macawi know about Bridget having a twin sister and most importantly did he know her name and/or her whereabouts? That were the hard questions whose answers their safety, maybe even their very lives depended on. He had ignored the report from Josh, hidden away in his special drawer in the file room. For once he had wanted to trust and do the decent thing. But things had changed so quickly... And now he needed to know everything. And Bridget's unwillingness to come clean was a good indicator that she would never be totally honest with him. She would continue to lie to survive. And he would always have to ask himself how much truth there was in everything she told him. Not a good prognosis for their shared future, he concluded depressed.

_So he opened the large brown envelope marked as private and confidential and read the small note attached to the thick file that answered his questions and explained so much of what happened and opened an entirely different can of worms._

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Stay tuned!


	8. Chapter 8

**Episode SEVEN b – PRIVATE DANCER**

AN: With a deep respectful bow to one of the most honest and heart-rending songs ever written and performed by two of the very true artists in the music business, imho. Here's to Tina Turner's "Private Dancer" by Mark Knopfler.

* * *

Josh's words are undeletable burnt into his memory: "Drew, I know you asked me to drop the investigation, but what the hell is going on in New York? I know you get your kicks by getting off by a close shave, but I sure hope for your sake you do know what you're doing with your 'colourful' sister-in-law while your wife is vacationing in France. Got bored? BTW: Thanks for the shoo-in. Made a killing."

* * *

_He opened the file and found Bridget's birth certificate - she was 20 minutes younger than Siobhan -school reports, her medical file and her police record. Sighing he leant back in his chair and started reading. Some of the information he had already known from the time he had had Siobhan's background checked out. Some was new and some put a different spin on things he had thought he knew. For instance, he had known that their father Thomas Kelly had lost his high prestige job when they were still very young. Too proud to do lesser work than he was qualified for, he sought to uphold his damaged pride and feeling of self-esteem through alcohol and left it to his wife Beryl to provide for the family. She juggled two jobs to make ends meet, which left Siobhan as the elder, more mature sister much in charge of the household and her sister. By the twins' age of fourteen their father had drunk himself into an early grave. Siobhan did well in school and worked after school at a local fast food restaurant to put money aside for the college. She was reputed to be an ambitious, bright, serious, determined girl to drag herself out of poverty. Bridget on the other hand floundered. She wasn't half as good in school as Siobhan, got in constant trouble with teachers and peers, started to hang out with the wrong sort of crowd and gained the reputation of being an easy-going party-girl that was regularly taken home by the police. Again and again Andrew read teachers' and school psychologists' evaluations that she would benefit from following her sister's example and that she sorely lacked direction. Some expressed their concern for her future and their helplessness and inability to reach her or their wish Bridget would find the strength to step out of the large shadow of her sister, some were simply disappointed in her sub-standard performance compared to her sister, and lastly others wrote her off as a lost case by the age of sixteen despite of her elder sister's and mother's best efforts to mould her into a useful member of the community. That was the black and white version of things. _

_If he read between the lines, he discovered a girl who tried at all costs to put some distance between the twins, to desperately find an identity as her own person – as Bridget Kelly, not as Siobhan Kelly's twin. While Siobhan successfully attended college, Bridget was still floundering. By the time Siobhan started seriously dating her future husband Peter Tomlin, Bridget spent more time in bars than at work, couldn't keep a job for longer than a few weeks before she got into another fight with colleagues or her bosses and started to experiment with soft drugs. Siobhan and Peter married and got Sean. The marriage soon soured with Bridget's constant escapades and little scandals that reflected again negatively on Siobhan and by extension on the ambitious executive assistant Peter Tomlin, which put an additional strain on the relationship between the sisters. And then the night of the accident happened. It destroyed Siobhan's marriage and the relationship between the sisters for good. Bridget took Siobhan's move to New York City and her following remarriage very hard and spiralled downwards after she had been trying with good effort to sober herself up and put her life on track, showing for the first time some ambition and a goal in life. That accident had shaken her up badly enough to want to turn her life around. But lost and without support system, Beryl Kelly had passed away the year before, she formed soon enough an addiction to hard drugs for which she couldn't pay, so she started stripping and from then on it was only a small step to prostitution to finance her addiction and various medical bills. Her medical record reflected the career of an addicted prostitute: STDs, severe beatings, one reported rape whose investigation had gone nowhere, two attempts to overdose. Her police records showed drunken indecent behaviour, insulting and assaulting police officers, prostitution, possession and very minor trafficking and one or two small time sentences for some other petty crime. In jail one attempt of sobering up failed. And she always returned to the old crowd as soon as she was out again, because she had nowhere else to go. Currently she was charged with possession and prostitution, which both would be dropped in exchange for her statement in court against Macawi. _

_She witnessed the strangulation of a friend by Macawi and was put back in rehab. This time – under witness protection – she met Malcolm Ward and he succeeded where others had failed. He managed to sober her up, gave her life direction and put some self-esteem and pride into her. She apparently had tried to make amends with Siobhan who finally agreed to meet with her a couple of weeks ago. The sisters met in the Hamptons and from then on things got hazy. What crazy plan did they concoct, while he was in Europe? Did Bridget know her sister was alive and kicking in France? Had he cherished an even more poisonous viper in his bosom than Siobhan?_

_So that was Bridget Kelly for you: addict, stripper, whore, professional liar and killer in self-deference. This was the woman he stuck his neck out for. He **really** knew how to pick them, he smiled wrily. But what did she see in turn, when she looked at him? Just another john who would pay with food, clothes and shelter in exchange for possible sexual gratification? Could she still respect men? Was she still able to enjoy a man's touch or did it make her skin crawl in revulsion? Was this the reason why she always paused for a moment or two before she let him touch her? Had she to psych herself up to it? How careful would he have to be with her? How much fun could their sex life possibly be, if she secretly hated it? He loved to give pleasure to a woman, loved to see her fall apart under this touch. He loved that moment of absolute power over her, this sweet manifestation of absolute trust. How would he be able to enjoy that with her considering her past? And what about Juliet? Was someone like her fit to raise a child? What kind of values and examples could she set? _

_Andrew felt like going mad and he was loosing control – rapidly. That is, had he ever been really in control since Bridget had turned around and kissed him hello? Or wasn't he always one step behind and only following instead of leading, vainly deluding himself to be the master of the game just because he knew who his wife really was? Was he the double-crossed double-crosser? With Siobhan he had eventually known what to expect, at least he had thought. Maybe he wasn't as smart as he liked to think. _

_Bridget on the other hand was a mystery to him. What did that woman really think and feel? Wasn't she a polished facade that reflected your idea of her rather than her real substance? Their "date" came to mind... how real had it been for her? Had he seen the true Bridget or had she been his "Private Dancer" that night? Was this why she had left him standing outside of her hotel room? He had paid for the food and the company, but sleeping arrangements hadn't been explicitly included in the "first date" deal and she didn't hand out freebies?_

_His face hardened. Andrew didn't do pity dates and never ever had he needed to pay for sex. He hadn't done it before and as sure as hell wouldn't start doing it now, he nursed his wounded pride._

_But then the usual demands on a CEO intruded and he pushed the troublesome trio – Siobhan, Bridget, Gemma - to the back of his mind and concentrated on his business. Strange irregularities had come up and figures didn't add up anymore and Olivia updated him regularly on the progress of their internal investigation. Up to now they had about fiftythousand Dollar missing and they weren't much closer to solving the mystery where the discrepancies originated from and where the money had gone to. Over three hundred accounts were involved up to now with sometimes up to several thousand Euro or Dollar too much in favour or in the red and sometimes only a few cents were booked incorrectly in the accounts which made it all the harder to really find out how much was truly missing and where it had gone to. It was time consuming and very tedious to check and cross check the monetary flow dating back several months, just to be on the safe side and to exclude simple accounting errors, which muddled things on top. And it tied up their accounting staff in Europe and the US and hampered the workflow rather fiercely._

* * *

_So the day had flown by in a daze and when the elevator doors opened, he realised he had done nothing to come to a conclusion about the twins._

_Seeing her lost in thought as she was leaning against the rail, watching the city lights around her and listening to the traffic noise from below her, he decided to confront her. He wanted to know where he stood with her and what he could expect from her. He wanted, no, he needed to reconcile the woman in her sister's designer clothes on his balcony with the woman from the police record and the medical files in his mind. _

_Besides, it took only one phone call from Machado to the DHS on a whim and then the FBI would know who exactly they had interviewed today. And he needed to know what she had told them in order to keep their stories straight._

_He would make it easy for her and start asking about Malcolm Ward. Pleasantly surprised he got a straight, and most important, a truthful answer from her. Encouraged he stepped up to her asking about her addiction. Again she was honest by telling him how close she had been to end it all more than once. It should have pacified him, but all it did was making him angry, because her sudden honesty didn't fit into his new perception of her when he had thought he had figured her out as a self-serving pathological liar and opportunist. What should have made things clearer made things even more complex and obscure. And yet, there had been a flicker of hope that Bridget had been played as well, that she had stumbled into this minefield of a broken marriage as an innocent. But the benefit of doubt died painfully when Bridget slipped up by telling him her sister had left the country. So she knew. So she had known all along! The truth had finally come out. She had played him rather well and he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Anyone looking to sell a bridge? Ring up Andrew Martin and have it handed over by a petite blonde with long hair and the famous handful of curves and you have bagged the deal! So he lashed out to her, let his words slice through her, wanted to see her bleed and break for taking part in Siobhan's charade and to humiliate and hurt her like she had humiliated and hurt him._

_He was so mad he could have kicked himself down Park Avenue and all the way over the ocean back to his home town. Very well, his only chance from now on was to keep playing the village idiot! There was no more tentative trusting Bridget Kelly. And now she even played the old trump of crying - for god's sake how gullible did she think he was? - and argued she was telling him the truth. The truth? Did she even know the meaning of the word? Oh, yes, she had told him the truth, but only because she had to to save her worthless hide. Their whole promise to be honest with each other and not keeping secrets was a joke. She had never meant it, only telling him what he wanted to hear – just a private dancer dancing to his tune. Obviously he was on his own – again. An icy fist squeezed his heart thinking Macawi might get Juliet; they could get kidnapped by that man's goons in exchange for information where Bridget was. Was this what really happened to Gemma? He wanted his daughter close by, in his line of vision to reassure himself she was safe. He would give his girl a call just to hear her voice, to learn she was safe and happy._

_In fact Juliet didn't appreciate her father's control call at all, but for once Andrew let her rant and rave. Mrs Randolph confirmed both girls were at home and had been watching a movie with her or rather she with them while munching popcorn. Her husband was upstairs working on a presentation. At least all was fine in the state of Connecticut. _

_Suddenly there was not enough air in the appartment. He pulled on his tie, opened the first buttons of his shirt and rushed out onto the terrace. Breathing in deeply he leant against the rail for support. In the gentle cool breeze he listened to New York City: the traffic noise, the sirens, faint laughter drifting up from below. Jeff and Rachel entertained some guests. But for once his city failed to calm him. He couldn't shake the feeling of being threatened. He knew he was irrational, he knew Juliet was fine, but hearing her exasperated voice was not enough. Abruptly he turned around and walked to the elevator._

"_Where are you going?" Bridget intercepted him at the elevator doors._

"_I'm going to pick up Juliet and bring her home."_

"_What for?"_

_He turned to Bridget._

"_Your sister's NA sponsor has gone missing and you ask me what for? What if this Macawi got him? What if Malcolm Ward knows about you, what if he knows where to find us, what if this man makes Ward talk? And Gemma's gone missing, too."_

"_Malcolm would never..."_

"_How can you be so sure?"_

"_Bridget would have never meant..."_

"_Be that as it may, but she left one hell of a mess behind."_

_He stabbed the elevator button._

"_Andrew, Juliet's fine. You know that. You just talked to her. I would never let her come to harm! Bridget would never..."_

_The doors opened and he stepped in._

"_Again, how can you be so sure? No, I'm picking her up. I want her home."_

_The elevator doors closed and the last thing he saw was Bridget with her head down, looking forelorn and unhappy, which gave him a stab he ruthlessly suppressed. _

_He hadn't left Manhattan yet as he realised how silly he behaved. Juliet was fine, she was happy apart from being mad at him, she was out of harm's way and he was completely overreacting. He was half of a mind to return to Park Avenue, but then the Hamptons seemed to be the better choice to regain his balance. Resolutely he turned his car at the next intersection to head for the Hamptons._

* * *

_Andrew blinked sleepily when he woke up to the soft lapping of the gentle surf on the small strip of the beach that belonged to his weekend retreat. The late Autumn sun had tickled him awake. He tried to sit up but fell back groaning. For a second he felt slightly disoriented before he remembered._ _After his argument with Bridget he had left the apartment to pick up Juliet and had ended up here._ _He looked around and listened. It was quiet in the house. Not even a clock's ticking reached his ear. The only sounds that found their way to him through the opened window were the surf and the lonely screech of a sea gull. _

_It was too quiet._

_Gingerly he rolled around and looked at the pristine half of his bed. No one had slept next to him last night. He wasn't surprised to find the sheets cool and smooth, when he touched them carefully with his hand._

_It was deathly quiet and it felt lonely._

_He rolled back on his back. Last night the quiet solitude, supported by half a bottle of Scotch, had soothed him, but this morning it unsettled him. What had he been thinking? Oh yeah, right. Not thinking had been the objective last night. He looked further around, acknowledging the understated wealth. That chest of drawers alone had cost over $15,000 being a designer's original. Did any of his possessions hold any worth beyond the material value if he had no one to share them with? The Chinese print from the Ming period at the wall opposite the bed was beautiful, but it couldn't communicate with him in whatever way. Whatever he felt or thought when looking at it was just a reflection of his own thoughts and feelings._

_The house felt sterile, as if he was just an unwelcome intruder._

_Feeling a bit foolish he called out just to hear his voice. But there was no echo. He didn't even make a dent into the oppressing emptiness of the house._

_He hated it._

_He got up, not feeling particular hungry, rather a bit queasy in fact, but lying in bed alone and hungover felt even more depressing. The long shower and a most vigorously cleaning of his teeth made him feel at least physically better. He switched on the radio to drown the silence, but the professionally cheerful chatter got quickly on his nerves, yet browsing through their CD collection felt too much of an effort._

_He checked his mobile phone: three calls from Bridget. He listened to her voice mails. She seemed to be worried and angry when she asked about his whereabouts and expected a return call from him. Immediately he pressed the short dial button but disconnected as quickly. He wasn't ready to talk to her yet, but then he dialed again. Maybe her worry for him was genuine and not a ploy to reel him in again. He waited for her to get it, but got only the voicemail. He left a message, where he was, that he was fine, that he needed to work through some issues and that he would be back in time for the Art Pavillion. He pondered for a moment, if he should apologise for worrying her, but disconnected the call. Right at this moment he wasn't particular concerned for her feelings, when he didn't even get his own straight. _

_Deciding to have a small breakfast at his marina's club house, he left his house. But the only people he met and could stand were Miffy and Bitsy Bonaventa, but even their laid back approach to life irritated him today. Even taking the boat out to race along the coast at maximum speed didn't appeal to him. Deciding nothing would please him this morning and nothing could distract him any longer he turned to the beach and fed the sea gulls around him with the rest of the bagel he had grabbed at the club. Breathing in the tangy smell of the sea, listening to the screeching sea gulls fighting among themselves for the fishes they had caught, walking along the surf, jumping occasionally quickly to the side, when a larger than usual wave lapped boldly at his shoes and letting the late morning sun warm his back, he realised it was time to take a step back and approach the situation with a bit more sober-mindedness and put things into perspective instead of letting his rampant, mercurial feelings and fears rule. _

_His thoughts turned to his wife. So she was still alive and had fled to France – the obvious choice for her. Involuntarily he smiled. Siobhan loved France with a passion. The people, the language, the food, the climate, the culture, the history, everything. From the moment they had left the airport in Paris and she had taken her first breath, she had been enarmoured. Fondly he remembered how she had more or less pressed her nose childlike against the taxi's window to take it all in, when they had driven along the Grands Boulevards. Smiling he had instructed the driver to take the scenic route to their cosy, little, out-of-the-way hotel in Montmartre. The Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, the Champs-Elysées, the Louvre, the Seine, Notre Dame and Sacre Coeur – she couldn't get enough. At one moment along the drive she had actually remembered she had a husband sitting next to her and she had turned to him and shown him the most radiant smile she had ever given him – and he... drunk with love for her he would have bought her the Eiffel Tower on the spot, if it had been on sale. So they had to make do with dining at the restaurant on the tower which led to the first of a series of rather memorable Parisian nights. The next two weeks they had toured the city from the North to the South, from the East to the West and the Left and the Right banks on the days they managed to drag themselves out of bed. _

_And then he had taken her to the French Riviera as his real wedding gift. Claudine had managed to book them into the 'Suite Grace Kelly' at the world-famous InterContinental Carlton Cannes for two weeks and that had been the ultimate experience for her. If she had liked Paris, she LOVED it down there. The sheer luxury, the casinos, the multi-million-dollar yachts in the marinas side by side by the hundreds and the largest ones at anchor just outside of them, the pittoresque manoirs and petits châteaux, the flair of easy living, the landscape, the many, many rich and super rich people and especially the centuries old titles: Count this, Duchess that... He had been less impressed, used to deal with people like them on a daily basis, but Siobhan had been walking on air in Paradise._

_He remembered quite well how they had followed Grace Kelly's footsteps and even had once picnic at the same spot as her and Cary Grant had in an vintage convertible with her head resting in his lap while sipping cool Champagne and him feeding her grapes. She had looked up to him through her overlarge sunglasses and said ,Andrew I want to learn French.' And he had bent down, while her head had come up a bit, aided by his hand beneath her shoulder blades, and proceeded to teach her her first French words, while the hot summer sun put sparkling diamonds on the Mediterranean Sea below and a soft, warm breeze caressed their skin. They had stayed there until the bright lights of the many famous, glamorous towns had illuminated the coastline like a string of pearls._

_Racing down the long and winding road at breakneck speed with squealing tires as Grace Kelly, Siobhan's great and much beloved idol, had done in 'To catch a Thief' 60 years ago had been a dream come true for Siobhan, while he had been holding on for dear life like Cary Grant and secretly asking himself, not entirely in jest, if he had married a black widow. When they had arrived at the bottom - surprisingly in one piece - and him being able to relax gradually he had vowed to himself to never ever let her get behind the steering wheel again. _

_Those four weeks in France had been pure magic and they had been so in love back then. She had been his princess and he had done his damnest to be her Cary Grant.  
_

_So how could it have come to her running away and him wanting to kill her? When had they lost the magic? Where had they gone wrong? Had it been only his fault? He knew he tended to be emotionally closed off; especially when he was hurting, he shut people out. He knew he had worked too many long hours, had left her too much alone on her own, trying to please her by being the highly sucessful manager that navigated his business through the storm-tossed sea of a worldwide financial crisis. He had done what she wanted from him. They had let every day life dull the magic. Let their playful little games turn gradually nastier. They began to hurt each other. She withdrew from him, turned colder and less forgiving, when he didn't perform to her standards and bent to her will. And then Siobhan began to take an avid interest in charity work and both began to drift apart for good, caught up in separate lives with him living in a world of figures and her living in a world of social misery. _

_He shook himself firmly. Now was not the time to get lost in memories. _

_So, where had she gone? Knowing her penchant for luxury, big names and titles, he thought her path had led her inevitably down to the French Riviera. She had so very often been talking of wanting to return there for an extended period of time, had even asked him only half-jokingly, why they couldn't relocate M/C to Monte Carlo, which had led him to open Bank Tresonne in Paris as their European headquarters as a compromise. That had caused several spectacular rows with Olivia who had thought it a complete folly, because from the business point of view London would have been the obvious choice as THE financial centre of investment banking in Europe and had advised him strongly to start thinking with his head residing above the waistline again. The animosity between the women began then and there with Olivia defending her position as business partner and prime consultant and Siobhan wanting to be more than a trophy wife._

_Besides, she would need a "sponsor" who would cover her expenses. And where better to look and find some benevolent man enjoying the company of a beautiful woman than there? She had learnt to speak the international language of the rich and she knew how to behave around them. She would easily be accepted by that lot as one of their own. This is where he would need to start looking for her. That is, did he want to find her? What would he do, if he found her? Would it be enough to know where she was and that she was doing alright? Maybe he should leave it at that and let her go for the old magic's sake? They had an ocean between them. Maybe Siobhan was content to turn her back on him and the States and be left alone to start a new life with a new love over there? _

_That was all well and good, but ostrich-like policy didn't accomplish anything here. She might want to start over in France, maybe even with a new name and reinvent herself. She might leave it at it and forget what she knew in exchange for her life. But he couldn't know that for sure, until he knew what she was doing. And the cold hard question was: how much of a threat could she be in France? And that led right back to Bridget and her involvement in this mess. _

_He doubted much that Siobhan would return to New York City, if she could help it. She knew or at least suspected, what would await her here. Otherwise she wouldn't have run in the first place. But what if she did... if she wanted to have a second chance with him... if she wanted to reconcile? Would he take her back? Would he be able to maybe not forget, but forgive? Would he want to? Would he be committed enough to try making it work again? Could they regain what they once had? After some soul searching he denied it firmly. There would be no reconciliation for them. He was through with her. He had been through with her the moment she had stolen the documents and threatened him and he had asked the Barusos for a small favour. There were no lingering feelings left on his part. Besides there was already one Siobhan Martin currently residing in 526 Park Avenue Suite 1400 – Bridget, his personal enigma. _

_So what evidence was there that Bridget knew about Siobhan being alive besides her blunder the night before? Was there any indication she regarded their current arrangement as temporary? He recalled their interactions from the first moment she had turned around to breathe a flirty hi at him and kissed him. He'd been so surprised, suspicious and nervous that the feel of it had barely registered. How had her lips felt on his? He couldn't recall. Their shape? He couldn't recall. Their softness? He couldn't recall. Their taste? He COULDN'T RECALL! His inability to recall that short second tormented him. The more he tried the blurrier it became. A wave of hot longing to repeat that second over and over again crashed over him. With great effort he returned to the matter at hand what that kiss really meant and not how it felt. _

_It meant... that Bridget didn't know how things were between him and Siobhan, when she pretended to be her sister. With the way they had been before his departure Siobhan would not have said it's been forever, but rather it hasn't been long enough. If Bridget had known, she would not have given in so easily on the issue of going to the ballet. If Bridget knew she was only a stand-in for a little while, she would not make such an effort to turn things around for them, as it would have been awkward for her sister to return to a more loving marriage. If Bridget had known, she would not have tried to mend bridges with Juliet. If she had known, she would not have done half the things she did to make life better for them all. She would have kept her distance and giving him the cold shoulder like her sister. _

_If Bridget had known about the phone, she would NOT have made the calls to Ward. If she had known, she would not have left that message on Gemma's mobile phone, asking for Gemma's friendship as Bridget. Because she would have known, he would learn about them and then the jig would have been up for her. She would have used another phone like Siobhan used to do. That meant that Bridget was not briefed properly by Siobhan, what she would have done, if she had planned to make it a temporary thing. _

_But what convinced him most was that Bridget had left her fingerprints at a crime scene on purpose, what she wouldn't have done, if she hadn't planned to live the rest of her life as her sister. And not to forget the distress call to the coast guard. Something must have happened on their boat to convince Bridget that Siobhan had committed suicide._

_That meant that Bridget was innocent of her sister's machinations, which left Bridget Kelly herself. She had been an addict, a stripper and a whore. Unfortunately for his inner balance she was also a good stepmother and good and loyal friend, a strong ally, an almost perfect wife, desirable, loveable and full of warmth and compassion. Maybe it was exactly her experiences that made her able to reach out to Juliet and catch her fall. Maybe she really was the most qualified person for the job to keep it all together and rebuild their lives. He and Juliet had made such a progress these few weeks to regain that wonderful father-daughter relationship they once had. She had overcome her addiction at last, which took an immense lot of strength, courage and willpower. He felt confident she would not return to her former life if she could help it._

_So what were Bridget's dreams? Making a life without compromising herself in any kind or shape? A man who loved her and she could love in return? Maybe even getting married and have children? Was this her chance to become the woman she had always meant to be? But would she want to stay with him or would she leave one day, when the dust had settled? Was he just a convinient mealticket or could she find it in her heart to love him one day?_

_And did he want to stay with Bridget and pursue a relationship with her, now that he knew that maybe hundreds of men had left their dirty and uncaring pawprints on her silky skin, even with bruising force? Did he still want what they had enjoyed before him, when he thought about it? To be one of many wasn't something Andrew's alpha male pride could accept easily. His ego, pride and ambition demanded that he was superior, that he went for uncharted territory and that he rammed his conquerer's flag into virginal soil so to speak. But what if he looked at it from a different angle? So he wasn't the first or at least among the firsts, but he could be the very last. Perhaps he should look at her like a precious painting which he stole from a museum to hang it in his private gallery knowing his eyes would be the only ones that would ever see it again and relish the proprietary pride that came with it? _

_He briefly toyed with the idea to call his father for some parental advice what to do about the mess he was in, but then he shied away from it despite all. His parents were so proud of him, he couldn't bear to disappoint them and they would worry themselves sick over him. He didn't want to burden them with his problems. He tried to imagine this call. His mother would make a fuss on the phone as she always did, when he called. And his father would ask about the business, wanting to get an insight scoop of all things financial he only learnt about from the newspapers and the TV with the underlying hope that despite all, his son was still doing well. And when he would tell his father what was really going on, he saw his face in front of his inner eye. He would listen, very quietly, then keep quiet for a while and then clear his throat and say 'son, your mother and I love you very much, but you shouldn't have done that and you know that, too.' And he would say he should make things right again. And his mother would start crying and asking why he couldn't have chosen a good, proper English girl like Sue Brennan whom she loved dearly still after all these years like the daughter she never had. If he had married Sue, none of it would have ever happened, conveniently forgetting that Sue from across the street had bored him to tears after only three months and they had only been 15 after all. Besides she was thin as a rake, looking sick and haggard with clothes so small that even "Posh" Beckham would swim in them, when she had come by to see him at his parents to say a quick hello a couple of weeks ago. He shuddered. No, he preferred the feel of a healthy and trim woman in his arms. Coming to think of it, he should make sure Bridget ate properly, she really was a bit too thin. Perhaps he could convince her to drop Siobhan's veggie nonsense and start eating properly with meat regularly on the dish. Especially now with her being pregnant she should have healthy, balanced meals and stop eating like a bird. No wonder she wasn't showing yet._

_But what if the truth ever came out? He would be finished as a business man. The socialites would not accept Bridget in their midst. Men would make dirty jokes about her. He would have to listen to comments like buying the cow for a glass of milk. Was he prepared to loose everything for her? Did he love her enough for that? Did he love her, period. After a while of internal struggling he came to a conclusion._

_Yes, yes, he did love her. He loved her for Juliet, he loved her for turning him away from the path he had been walking on for too long, he loved her for the child growing inside her, he loved her for her sense of humour and her sassiness, he loved her for her strength, he loved her for the potential she presented to his future. His heart had decided long ago it wanted Bridget, only his head was dragging its feet, while the rest of his body joyfully leapt ahead to catch up with his heart. _

_He loved her, but his love might cost him everything. _

_It was tearing him apart._

* * *

_When Andrew dressed for the opening night, he heard the soft hustle of Bridget's clothes, who prepared herself at the same time in his back. One look at her and he felt let down once more. Why was she constantly making it harder for them to keep up apperances? Was he the only one committed to making it work? If she wanted to go on pretending to be her sister, she should do it a bit more professionally. Everyone who knew Siobhan rather well would raise their eyebrows looking at her and wondering, what caused that drastic change in appearance and to some extent in personality. The real Siobhan would never have been caught in such a dark coloured dress that showed a more than appropriate cleavage with false eye-lashes, too much tacky grey-blue eye shadow and with her hair not put up in a tight or elaborately styled bun. Bridget was definitely cracking up, showing more and more of her true persona. On the other hand he could not deny, put all things together, that she looked beautiful. And he reminded himself to see in her the painting, not the prostitute. _

_He didn't know how to bridge the distance between them. So Bridget stood up to meet him half way by admitting she felt ashamed of her actions and she was so afraid that it would have changed his feelings, if she had told the truth. That HURT! Even if Bridget only tried to come up with a reason, why Siobhan had never told him about her sister, it hit below the belt. Had Siobhan been afraid of him, afraid of telling the truth, because she feared he would tar her with the same brush? Was it, because she had too often been judged by the actions of her sister? Siobhan should have given him a little more credit. And Bridget should, too. Whoever Bridget had been in her former life, that woman didn't exist anymore, he realised. She hadn't done those things. That had been old Bridget. The Bridget of today was a totally different woman than the addicted stripper/whore. Of that he was absolutely sure. But he didn't know if she detected the duplicity of his words, she couldn't as long as she didn't know he knew exactly who he was talking to. _

_In any case their words carefully spoken to build a bridge opened floodgates and they had the most honest conversation ever about honesty and lies. Taking the bull by the horns he decided to take advantage of her generous offer and unburden himself a bit. He had told so many lies, omitted so many facts, where to start? For a crazy moment he even pondered to tell her about his plan to have her sister killed because she was a threat to his empire. Would she still never judge? Yet, reason prevailed and he decided to tell a relatively safe truth – the truth about his feelings for the little one growing inside her. He hadn't been happy, true, he had got sick upon learning of the pregnancy, because it had forced him to take a very good look at himself and his actions, yet it pulled him back from the final abyss. He hadn't been happy, because he hadn't known Bridget then. She had been a stranger who shared his appartment and burdened him with the additional responsibility for a child that wasn't his own. Not a good place to be in back then. But despite all this, this baby was his moral compass and his guiding star. This baby had changed things for them. This baby had forced them to co-operate and try making their relationship whatever shape it was in right now work. So this baby meant everything because it brought them together. The lies she told him hurt, true, because he was deathly afraid he would never really know how she felt about him, would always need to second-guess her. Would he always need to live in fear that things would go wrong between them? Yet what prevented them from having a successful and happy marriage despite her false identity and the surrounding lies? Was he married to a woman or to a name? _

_He didn't know what signal he had sent to Bridget, but she responded to his message with heart-rending honesty. He was astonished, heart racing like mad, when she confessed that she didn't want to loose him, too. Despite his doubts and careless actions he had carved his niche into her heart like she had in his. Incapable of resisting he took her into his arms, and for the very first time she returned his embrace, confirming she, too, felt they belonged together. Helplessly surrendering under the onslaught of tenderness, he pulled a strand of hair aside and then... he felt her lips finally on his again and he pulled her even closer and then her hand was in his hair and his world narrowed down to this tiny slip of a woman in his arms, all of his senses filled with her essence. Desire flared up in him, hot and heavy. If he needed to be somewhere else, he couldn't remember anymore._

_Only when she started to pull away against his wishes - he had not had his fill of her yet, they hadn't even really started - he heard the ringing of his mobile phone. Almost giddily he reached for it. She had kissed him back, out of her own free will. Finally she had given him the sign he had been waiting for. She was his now. He would get rid of the caller and then they could explore this new development between them in more depth. To hell with Gemma's opening night!_

_It was Juliet's English teacher, but if he called just now to discuss her progress... he would yank that man through his phone and pull him up by the invisible cord line for breaking the mood.  
But irritation gave way to worry and then to sheer terror when he learnt that Juliet had been involved in a car accident._

* * *

How he got to the scene of the accident he can't tell. It's all a blur to him. He barely remembers talking to the police and to Juliet's teacher. But he distinctly remembers the feeling of not being able to breathe when he looked at the damaged car and the broken shop window.

* * *

_In fact he only started breathing again, when Juliet came up to him, apparently unharmed. He crushed her into his embrace. She was there, she was safe. Nothing else mattered for those few seconds of holding his daugher close after such a fright and feeling her cling to him._

_But relief turned quickly enough into justified anger over her irresponsibility, her careless breaking of their agreement to stay in Stamford, her flippancy and her inability to understand the graveness of what she had done. She could have died! This was the final straw for him. Fed up he decided on the spot to cut her off. He would ground her until she had proven satisfactorily that she had turned her life around. Weekend parties were a thing of the past. If your children don't hate you, you're not doing your job properly, shot randomly through his mind. Well, he was prepared to be numero uno on Juliet's shitlist for the next ten years if necessary, as long as she grew into a responsible and decent adult._

_Talking to Oliver Randolph proved to be as unpleasant as expected with emotions running high in both men. Eventually they agreed to distribute the blame for this desaster equally on both girls and decided to freeze the contact between them in the foreseeable future. _

_The drive back to Park Avenue was drenched in sullen silence after he explained his daughter the new house rules. Just as Andrew pulled into the garage his mobile phone went off again - "Siobhan" had fainted at the Art Pavillion. _

_Letting Juliet out of the car with the explicit order to stay put or else, he left again for the hospital. Speaking with the nurse he learnt the doctors worked on Bridget. A passerby had called for the ambulance and had followed them to the hospital. With his thoughts firmly on Bridget and barely having got over the shock of Juliet's almost fatal accident, he barely looked at the tall black man. Anxious to be with Bridget he thanked him quickly and went to see her, when the man went on his way. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but he dismissed it as unimportant right now. _

_A doctor informed him that his wife suffered from a concussion and he agreed immediately to his suggestion to have an ultrasound to make sure the baby hadn't suffered. _

_Looking down at her with flat hair and no make-up in the standard issued hospital gown, she still was so very beautiful to him and when she turned to him and smiled at him in greeting and enquired about Juliet, he knew he had made the right decision. His head had finally caught up with the rest of him. Juliet, Bridget, the little one and he: they would be the family he so wanted to have. No second thoughts, no ifs and buts. Relieved that she felt fine so far, he made a small joke and smiled even larger when Bridget snorted. He had made her laugh and it felt better than bagging another multi-million-investor. He gave her small hand a gentle squeeze. But she quickly became agitated enough, when she heard about the ultra-sound, which he refused to understand. This was their baby! It was in her best interest to have it checked. And he looked forward to seeing it for the first time, the small bean that would be soon enough a real little person. This was the greatest of all miracles. Expectantly he stared at the monitor. But there was no change. It stayed homogeneous grey, empty. Where was it? He felt his heartbeat anxiously quicken. Where was his child?_

* * *

tbc_  
_


End file.
